


(Not) Alone

by Zethsaire



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Canon Rewrite, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Elvhen Lore, Elvhen Pantheon, Except With A Kusarigama Because They're Cool, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kid Fic, Knight-Enchanter Inquisitor, Lyrium Inquisitor, M/M, Making Up A Bunch Of Shit About Magic, More Like A Crawl Really, Multi, Other, Other Elvhen Survived, Past Child Abuse, Pick A Side? Both Is Good, Rituals, Slavery, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Solas Is Full of Regret, Someone Calls Solas Out On His Bullshit, Sort Of, do not copy to another site
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22080805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zethsaire/pseuds/Zethsaire
Summary: Ajuaen might not know what the hell was going on - what with the muddled and missing memories, the supposed walking out of the Fade, and all the damn humans everywhere - but he was determined to fix this mess anyway. Someone had to.orIn which Solas isn't the only ancient elvhen god in the Inquisition.DISCONTINUED
Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford, Fen'Harel | Solas/Original Character(s), Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford, Male Lavellan & Solas, Male Lavellan & Solas & Mythal, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford, past Lavellan/Solas - Relationship
Comments: 27
Kudos: 95





	1. Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this fic for...a while. Normally I don't like to post WIP stuff, but it's been so long since Tresspasser came out, and who knows what's going to happen with DA4 so...I figured might as well post now, or I'm never going to. (Plus new Fenris comic was teased so that got me back in the DA mood and I wrote a ton on this fic for NaNo.)
> 
> Basically the whole idea came about while I was playing Tresspasser for the Nth time and going “how different would this be if there was someone who could call Solas out on his bullshit?” and then this fic was born. Hopefully you enjoy it as well~
> 
>  **Pairing notes:** there will be a little Solas/Inquisitor energy in some of the earlier chapters, and it is mentioned they had something in the past. I’ll tag specifics at the end of relevant chapters. The end goal pairing is Dorian/Cullen/Inquisitor. (Though we're not going to get to that for a while. Like, minimum of 30k just for Dorian/Inquisitor - we’re earning that slow burn tag, kids.) Just so no one is disappointed down the line ;3

To say that Ajuaen remembered nothing previous to his awakening in the dungeons at Haven would be a gross oversimplification. It wasn't so much that he remembered nothing, as that he couldn't piece together the amount of things he _did_ know. It was too much – too much for one person, too much for a dozen people. None of it made any sense. It was like reading an entire library, only you only had a sentence from each book, and someone had asked you to put the books in alphabetical order. So he said he remembered nothing, because it made more sense than whatever was going on in his head. Besides, he didn't know the answers to their questions, so it all worked out to the same in the end.

Things were – strange. Leliana had focused on what he knew of the explosion, and what had happened to the Divine, which he didn't know. But Cassandra seemed fixated on his tattoos – _lyrium_ – embedded into his skin. It was impossible, she said. There was only one person in all the world who had tattoos like that, and it wasn't him. ( _Brands,_ not tattoos - he didn't remember why or where he got them, but he remembered searing heat and screaming until his voice went out.) She said something about Kirkwall, and someone called _Fenris_ and Ajuaen had no idea what she was talking about. But the brands were his. He'd had them all his life. He didn't know how he'd gotten them, or what they meant, if anything. But he knew they were his, much in the same way he looked in the first mirror they passed on the way out of the dungeon, and knew the face looking back was his.

It was much the same way that he knew he was a mage. He knew – so much. Too much. Everything hurt, and nothing made any fucking sense, and he knew so many spells; every spell, but he stuck with ice, because it made sense to him. Ice to cool the heat of his brands, ice surrounded them, and thus was easy to draw upon. Freeze their enemies solid, and hurry on their way. Though – for demons, fire was good as well. Perhaps the best, in fact. Part of him wanted to burn them until there was nothing left but ash; destroy their presence on the world. Which made sense, because they were demons, and yet, his hatred of them felt different. That they were _wrong_ somehow, in more ways than that they were demons. Like they had once been something better, but had been twisted, corrupted, made _wrong_.

There wasn't a lot of time to think about it in any case. Magic that wasn't his was eating him up from the inside, crippling his dominant hand, sending fire up his arm, branching into his head and his heart. It wasn't his magic – but it was _familiar_ magic. It ate at him that he couldn't remember how he knew this magic, nor did he understand why the feel of it made him furious beyond reckoning. He wanted to find the owner of this magic and stuff it back down their throat, beat them senseless until they understood what they had _fucking done_ , but he had no context for this. Just burning anger.

And then they came to the top of the mountain, and there was that _fucking elf_. The elf who turned to help him close the rift, who held up his hand and the foreign magic surged, and his brands lit, and magic raced across him, in him, through him, and the rift closed. The elf who actually looked at him once the deed was done and whispered,

“ _Ajuaen?_ But that's impossible.”

“Do I know you?” he asked, and his brain howled _yes!!!_ but couldn't come up with a coherent answer as to why. Wolves, and the Fade, and elves, so many elves, with valleslin, and with bare faces, and a temple in the sky, and none of it made any fucking sense.

“No.” The elf said quickly, when he didn't respond with familiarity. It was so _obvious_ he was lying, look at his lying _little face_ , but Ajuaen had no basis for this accusation, so he said nothing. “I am Solas, if there are to be introductions.”

 _SOLAS! You fucking idiot –_ and then his fury faded back into the mire of his head. “Let's just get this over with.” He'd have to deal with this later. If there was a later.

So they headed back to the temple, past lyrium that was _wrong wrong wrong_ and he wasn't the only one to think so. Varric had apparently seen this before. If they survived, he was going to have a long talk with Varric, and why he knew the wrong lyrium, and why _everyone was surprised to see his brands_ and _who the fuck Fenris was_. But they had to live, first.

And then there was a Pride demon, because of course there was. And that seemed to make Ajuaen's memories so angry that he thought his head would split in two from the pain. Cassandra threw herself into battle, distracting it, her shield at the ready though it towered over her. Solas threw a barrier on them all, and rained down fire and ice and fists of force and Veil, and Varric supported them from afar with arrows that harried the creature.

Ajuaen – Ajuaen got _angry._ His entire body felt like it was on fire, and the brands set into his skin glowed with an unearthly light, and he threw down his staff and instead two long rods – one with a sickle on the end, the other without, connected with a long length of chain, solidified into his hands. They were ghostly and glowed the same blue as his brands, but the spirit energy they were made out of was solid. He stopped thinking, and threw himself into battle, trusting his body to know what to do. The blade of the sickle cut deep into the demon, the chain tripped and bound it, and he blocked a rake of the creatures claws with the blunt rod, and then flipped around and backhanded the demon with it, and the demon howled.

It could not last long against the assault, and though he was terrified and confused _angry_ , Ajuaen nearly cried for joy when it died and dissolved back into the veil. Then he was faced with the breach, and he held his hand out, as he had before, but this rift resisted him, made with a power greater than his own.

He was stubborn, if nothing else. He would _not_ lose to this aberration. He was – he was -

The memory slammed into him as his brands grew white hot, burning the flesh around them, and his power surged, overtaking the Rift and bending it to his will.

He was elvhen, the ancient, the immortal. He was Ajuaen, god of creation, and the People may have forgotten his name, but he had not forgotten them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think of the first chapter? The last line is honestly one of my favorites. And just picturing Solas’ face when he sees someone else from Ye Olde Elven Times, it makes me giggle. Just like O.o
> 
> As far as a posting schedule goes - I’ve got a good portion of this fic written - seven chapters completed and another 25k+ words of assorted scenes. Honestly, it’s the game centric scenes that are killing me; In Your Heart Shall Burn is 10k all on its own. -_- Still, hoping for bi-weekly updates, maybe stretching out a bit longer as we run out of buffer, but we’ll see how it goes. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are very motivating, just sayin. ;3
> 
> See you next time!


	2. The Veil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So technically this chapter is late but I can't realistically post in the middle of the week, I work twelve hour days. In theory I'll continue to post every other Saturday. Also this chapter is at least 3x as long as chapter one, and it only gets worse from here. Send help. (Gods, I hope you all love this chapter as much as I do. There is so much sass, I was cackling as I did my final edit pass.)
> 
> A few notes: I’ve done a ton of research and still feel like I know fuck all about ancient elvhen so I made up a bunch of shit. Tldr; if we actually have some canon that super contradicts anything in here plz let me know. (Looking at the DA timelines makes me cry.)
> 
> Enjoy~

Ajuaen woke alone, in a room that was unfamiliar to him. It was simple, and crude, and wooden, and nothing like the temples of Arlathan, or even the towers of the Fen’Harel. It was more akin to the simple shelters he had seen former slaves build for themselves, though even the simplest elvhen structure would have more pride of craftsmanship than this hovel. Where  _ was _ he?

Then the door opened, and a bare-faced elvhen woman came in. So he  _ was _ somewhere with Fen’Harel, or with his people. Had he completed some great working for Solas that had so drained him that he had been placed in a temporary structure? Had he partaken in a ritual that had been sensitive enough he could not be moved, and they constructed the building around him? It was the only reason he could think of for such crude, rushed work.

“Andran atishan, da'len. Iras ise Solas?” he asked, inspecting the rough sheet and blankets covering him, peeking underneath to confirm that yes, he was naked. He pulled the sheet with him as he stood, and looked around for some clothes.

She stared at him like she didn't understand him, and then replied with some mumbling that made no sense at all.

“Ahn?”

She trembled, her ears flicking back in distress. She practically crawled out of the room, backwards, and shut the door so quickly behind her he couldn't follow. He had no idea why she was frightened of him. Unless, perhaps, she'd belonged to June? But even then, if Solas had freed her, then -

He needed to find out what was going on.

His clothes were less than lacking, so Ajuaen made to conjure some, and realized something that had been bothering him since he awoke. Where was the Fade? He could feel it, but it was – far away. Muted. The song sang in his brands, like always, but they felt strange. Slightly out of tune. Something laid over them, like the finest cloth, separating him from the Fade. It was even more noticeable outside his body. More like a thick woven curtain instead of a thin, gauzy veil.

A...veil.

Ajuaen leapt for the door, forgetting clothing. He was covered, that would suffice for now. A warming spell – which caused a heavy draw on the Fade, since he had to force his way through the Veil – fucking  _ Solas! _

“Solas!” He snarled as he threw the door open. “Iras ane ma?”

He was in a human camp. A  _ human _ camp. No...there were elvhen as well – both slaves and free. And Children of the Stone. What  _ was _ this place? Had he gone insane when the Veil was put up? Solas was supposed to  _ wait _ for him!

“ **_Solas_ ** !” he shouted, as loud as he could. “ **_Iras ane ma?!_ ** ”

His voice boomed across the valley, and every single creature in the camp turned to look at him.

“Ajuaen!” Solas' voice called back, and Ajuaen turned to look for him. It took him more than one glance at the swiftly approaching elf to recognize him as Solas.

“Solas, you cut off all your hair,” he said, and thankfully, Solas seemed to both understand him, and reply in a language he understood.

Solas looked wary as he asked, “you remember, then?”

“Remember what? I don't remember how I  _ got _ here. Why are we in a camp with humans Solas? Why was there a freed elf who was so terrified of me she couldn't even speak properly? Why did you  _ put up the Veil without my help?! _ ”

Somehow, Solas managed to look worried, and intrigued at the same time. “Fascinating. At first, you couldn't remember anything before the Veil, and now you can't remember anything after.”

“After? How  _ long _ after?”

“I only woke from uthenera a short time ago. But for you...at least two thousand years. Human calendars are somewhat imprecise.”

“Two  _ thousand years _ ?! And what exactly have I been doing all this time?”

“As far as I can tell, wandering with what remains of our People. There is almost nothing left of what they once were. The wear the  _ vallaslin _ , Ajuaen, and are proud of it. The elves who are owned by humans, or are gathered in slums, they walk about bare faced and yet enslaved, and those who claim to be free pledge their services to the Evanuris. It's all  _ wrong _ Ajuaen!”

“I'm sure they're trying their best,” Ajuaen snapped. “And besides, you aren't allowed to complain about it if you only recently woke.  _ You _ weren't here to help the People. I bet you exhausted yourself putting up the Veil, didn't you? Which makes sense, if you did it all alone and fighting my protections the entire way. It wasn't meant to  _ be _ like this, Solas!”

“ _ None _ of this was meant to be! Our people should never have been enslaved. The Evanuris should never have become gods; Mythal should never have been killed, the Veil should never have had to be created. But it  _ did.  _ I did what I had to do. Every other option was worse.”

“You could have  _ waited _ for me. Like we  _ planned _ . That might have been an option, you ass!”

“They  _ stole _ Mythal, Ajuaen. They took her body from my temple and –  _ desecrated it.  _ I couldn't wait. I wouldn't let them breathe for a second longer than it took me to activate the Veil. I couldn't – I couldn't let them – she was just  _ hanging there _ Ajuaen. I can still see it, when I close my eyes. I'm not sorry.”

Ajuaen took a long moment to process that. Solas' jaw was clenched, and there were tears in his eyes. He sighed, and reached up to cup Solas' face. “Then we should have killed them all. The two of us would have been more than a match for them. I wish – you had  _ told _ me. But if I – if I had come across her first, I might have done the same thing.”

“It is done now,” Solas said, wrenching his face away, and that seemed to be all he would say on the matter.

Ajuaen sighed. “Is there any tea we can get in this Voided place?”

Solas made a face. “There's some in my cabin.”

“You're such a masochist,” Ajuaen teased, “with terrible taste in beverages.”

“And you're wearing a sheet.”

That made his mood sour again. “Well it wasn't like I could conjure armor, was it?”

Solas' cabin was not far, and was even more of a hovel than his own, if that was possible. Even though it was barely a two minute walk, they were accosted no less than four times; once by a soldier, twice by timid, bare faced elvhen, and once by a human wearing the closest to acceptable clothing he'd seen since waking up here, the gold cloth of her dress shining in the light of the day.

Each time, Solas exchanged a few sentences of nonsense with them, and they were persuaded to leave. They were definitely speaking one of the human languages. It wasn't that Ajuaen hadn't seen humans, or even interacted with them, but they were usually merchants or diplomats who at least attempted the common elvhen tongue that even the slaves had spoken. It didn't seem like even the lower caste elves spoke elvhen here, which was – disconcerting, to say the least.

“What did you tell them?” he asked once they were safely ensconced in Solas' hovel, and the tea kettle had been placed on the fire to heat, “and why did they seem to care so much?”

“Well, you did run out of the cabin in a sheet shouting for me in a dead language.”

“A dead – I'm an  _ elf _ , what other language would I speak?”

“Trade tongue, mostly. Orlesian. Or Tevene; those were the two largest countries to snap up our people after Arthlathan fell.”

“It went that badly?” he asked hoarsely, even though they'd both gone over scenario after scenario, knowing what widespread destruction could take place if the Veil was raised.

“Our people lost everything. Even themselves.”

The tea kettle shrieked, and Solas took it off the heat and added the leaves to steep. The kettle was crude in its design, with none of the pride of craft or detail that he had come to be familiar with, and yet, it was still a tea kettle. You probably couldn't just conjure your tea directly from the Fade any more, but Ajuaen had always preferred to brew his by hand anyway. At least some things hadn't changed.

“Why do they care about  _ me _ though? Why am I here? Why are  _ you _ here?” he asked as Solas poured the tea into two small, delicate cups. Ajuaen had no idea where he'd gotten them; they were the nicest things he'd seen in the whole camp so far aside from the human woman's dress.

“There's a giant hole in the Veil.”

“You've been awake less than a year, and there's a hole in the Veil? And they what, think it's a coincidence?”

“They don't know who I am. They don't know who you are, either. They think you're the Herald of Andraste, sent here to save them.”

“Who the  _ fuck _ is Andraste?” Ajuaen knew Solas was trying to distract him from the “coincidence” of this tear in the Fade – which all but confirmed it was his fault – but Ajuaen was too invested in what else he'd said, so he'd let Solas have his diversion for now.

“A figurehead of the current reigning human religion.” He went on to explain said religion, in detail, and how it somehow justified not only the slavery of elves (who  _ technically _ weren't slaves but couldn't own property, vote, or do jobs that weren't involved in serving humanity,) but also mages of all races, and how it deviated from what Solas had been able to figure out about the actual event through the echoes of the Fade.

“So let me get this straight. The humans think the Veil has always existed, and that what,  _ sin _ ripped it open, so their bloody goddess plucked an elf out of the fucking woods and decided to use him to fix all their problems?”

“If it helps, they're just as unhappy about it as you are. They'd much rather it had been a devout human. Probably female. They actually would have been the most happy if it'd never happened in the first place.”

“Which is  _ your fault _ I'm guessing.”

“Does it  _ matter _ who's fault it is? You don't remember anything from the last two thousand years. You don't remember who you are. And we're not gods here, Ajuaen. This army could just as easily turn on us, if you don't remember what you're doing.”

“Shifting blame, as  _ usual _ ,” Ajuaen sneered.

Still, Solas had a point. He was – frighteningly weak. Perhaps the him who'd lived since the fall would know how to manipulate the Fade through the Veil; he could barely manage a warming spell. There was no way he could defend himself if the hundreds of humans he'd seen decided he was actually evil after all. And even if he hadn't been the one who'd put the Veil up, he'd still been planning to. And while Solas' actions had not and had  _ never been _ his responsibility to clean up, it wasn't like anyone else would have any idea what was really going on. They needed someone with perspective from both sides if they were going to get out of this mess.

He could murder Solas  _ after _ he got his power back.

“Fine. What do we do?”

xxx

The hardest part was getting a moment alone, because even with Solas translating, every single person in the camp seemed to want to speak to him. He would have thought the state of Solas’ hovel would keep them away, but people just kept  _ knocking _ . Eventually Solas lost his temper and yelled at them. It was good to see some real fire in his friend; he'd only been awake in this Veiled world for a few hours and everything was so drab, dull, far away, like he was looking at it through a dirty glass.

“What did you say?” He asked, when they were finally left alone.

“I told them that if you were so exhausted you were having trouble  _ speaking _ ,” (their lie about what the Void was going on,) “that they needed to let you fucking  _ rest _ .”

“Reasonable,” Ajuaen said.

“They're all...ugh. For all that humans seem to loathe elves, these ones are utter incapable of doing a single thing without you.”

“Hm. Like having an army full of apprentices.”

“At least the apprentices spoke your language.”

Ajuaen sighed. “There is that. Now that we have some time to breathe, what do we  _ do _ Solas? I cannot continue like this. I don't know how to live in this world.”

Solas looked at him with sorrow, and Ajuaen remembered that Solas had only been living in this world for a short time. He hadn't lost his memories, this was simply his reality. Like waking up in a nightmare.

“You lost your memories when the Veil went up, and you regained what you had lost when you attempted to close the Breach. I believe, if we enter the Fade while you are channeling power through your mark, we may rejoin the two halves of yourself.”

“So all I have to do is fall asleep?”

“While actively using the Mark, yes.”

Ajuaen grimaced. He could, of course, sleep while using his own magic. All elvhen mages of a certain status learned, in preparation for uthenera. But using the Mark? Using  _ Solas _ ' magic, twined up and into his own, like a parasite? It would be difficult, to say the least.

“I...might be able to manage it. I don't suppose you know where I might have put my things? I should have something for the pain.”

Using his brands hurt, like setting himself on fire, and while he'd grown used to it over time, it still could impact his concentration. He had learned to brew his own pain draught, enough to deaden the sensation while not leaving him functionally impaired, though using enough of it in a short period of time carried the risk of revenge pain – his nerves feeling like he dipped them in acid, even if he wasn't using his brands. He carried at least one vial on him at all times, and he found it unlikely that habit had changed.

“I will find out. Have some more tea,” Solas advised.

It was elfroot tea, which did about as much for his pain as pissing on a wildfire, but Ajuaen did it anyway. Sitting alone in Solas’ quarters, drinking elfroot tea did not bring back particularly plesant memories. It reminded him of the time after he’d been rescued from June’s temple, during his long and painful period of recovery. At the time, he’d felt grateful, and had enjoyed their time together. That was before he’d known that Solas and Mythal were going to give him back to June. It had all been a ruse, in order to lull June into a false sense of security and aid Ajuaen in killing him, but at the time, their seeming betrayal had cut deep, and had tainted all the memories of the time he’d spent with them.

Solas returned with his belongings before he could sink further into melancholy. He set the items down beside Ajuaen, who examined them as if they belonged to a stranger, which, in a sense, they did. The pile of armor was first, skillfully made and well cared for, though made with simpler, cheaper materials than Ajuaen would have used. He had armor made from silverite and dragon scale, when he didn't simply conjure armor made entirely of magic. This was iron, thick hide, and finely woven cloth, repaired over and over, pieces lovingly replaced over time as old ones wore out. So he was still a craftsman, but he was without the materials and tools he'd once had access to. Which made sense, if he was not a god, wandering with People who did not remember him, as he did not remember himself.

His staff was old – very old. In fact, he recognized it. The Evanuris did not use staves except when they were at war, for using magic had been like breathing; it was just something one  _ did _ , without the need for a focus unless one was completing some great working, or destroying one's enemies. Staves also separated the classes; the greater the staff's focus, the greater power one could bring to bear. Thus a staff alone could mean the difference between life and death in a duel. And yet, a staff could also be a sign of magical weakness; if one used it daily, it meant one wasn't powerful enough to do magic without the aid, and such people were often looked down upon by those who considered themselves their betters.

As a craftsman, Ajuaen had made his own staff out of living wood, set with a focusing crystal harvested from a Titan's heart. He kept it close, and used it often. Many of his rituals and works required the utmost focus, and he had not shunned from the use of a staff. Thus, it was not impossible that when the Veil had been raised and the world had been broken, that he would have grabbed his staff when he fled with the rest of the People. And yet, he was very glad to see it.

“I can't believe I still have this.”

“It was very skillfully made,” Solas said.

“Obviously. But I am still surprised it has traveled with me, all this time.”

“It was important to you,” Solas said.

It was. He'd killed his father with this staff. This staff had set him free. Perhaps somehow he had known that, even without his memories.

His other belongings were a mixture of items he recognized and others he did not. Survival items, most likely, as Ajuaen had never had to survive in a world without someone to bring him meals, had never wandered with nowhere to lay his head. Even when he had been a slave, his basic needs had been seen to, so that he could be used for other purposes. He wondered how he had survived, in the days after the Veil. How had they not all simply starved to death, alone in the world?

Inside a small carved wooden box he found a glass vial with his pain potion, almost exactly as he remembered it. Whether the memory of its crafting had stayed with him, or whether he had reverse-engineered its make from what he would have carried with him, he did not know, but he was beyond grateful to see the milky white liquid.

He carefully added two drops to his tea, and put the potion away for later use. He stirred the tea vigorously, and added a spoonful of honey to counteract the awful bitterness. Then he drank the entire cup in one gulp, which made Solas grimace at him.

The effect was almost instantaneous. The ever present pain deadened, and when he sent his magic through the lyrium branded into his skin, it only tingled, instead of burning. His left hand and arm still ached and sizzled like the after effects of casting lightning, but as he could not remove Solas' magic from himself, this was likely as good as he was going to get.

“I think...I think this will work.”

“Good. Get comfortable, and I will help you enter the Fade.”

Solas got up and sat on the edge of a pallet-bed, like the one Ajuaen had woken in. Ajuaen got up himself, and laid down with his head on Solas' lap. He began to regulate his breathing, to slow it down in preparation for sleep.

The Fade was surprisingly easy to reach. It hovered, just outside Ajuaen's consciousness, and as he drifted into sleep, his spirit entered it almost of its own accord. As for where he was – it was unfamiliar to him. The Fade was infinite, ever changing, but there were places that were permanently shaped by deeds in the material world, or from the presence of certain powerful spirits and demons. All the gods had places in the Fade that called to them, that reflected their natures, that formed the foundation of their temples; Fen'Harel more than most. But this place was nothing like them.

There were no buildings, no intact structures; only floating rock as far as the eye could see, with the sickly green of corruption. There were ruins among the rubble, or buried in the rock; pillars, arch ways, shattered Eluvians. This had meant something to someone, once. There was a miasma over everything; more of a feeling than a physical thing, laid over everything. This was the realm of a demon.

**So the old god stirs, seeking what was lost.** A voice rumbled, from nowhere and everywhere, shaking Ajuaen to his core.

He opened his mouth as if to respond, when there was a sharp pain in his hand, and he looked down, instead. At his side was a black wolf with six glowing red eyes, three on each side. It had just  _ bit _ him. Ajuaen forced himself not to roll his eyes. Solas was so dramatic.

The wolf huffed, and scented the air, and then took off through the rubble towards a destination only it knew. Ajuaen sighed, and followed him.

**Come now, false god. Don't you wish a bargain? I can grant you what you seek.**

Fen'Harel huffed, and let out a bark-growl, and turned away, if one could turn away from an omnipresent voice. Ajuaen followed him, though the feeling of dread grew heavier. His staff appeared in his hand, formed by his thoughts and will. He hoped they would get this errand over and done with, and leave this place.

The demon did not let them leave without a fight. Fen'Harel snarled a warning, and shapes of – nothing, not of darkness but more an absense of light – fell from the sky and landed before them. They twitched grotesquely, and transformed before his eyes into – himself. Except not himself. Himself as an empty shell, June's brands burned into his corpse, eyes empty, mouth hanging slack. They jerked towards him like puppets on a necromancer's string, and Ajuaen had to swallow hard behind the horror that rose up into his throat.

Fen'Harel's snarl reverberated in the fade, and he lept for one of the  _ things _ grabbing it by the throat and shaking it until it dissolved back into nothing. So they could be killed. Or. Injured. Delayed. He could do this. Just like any other enemy. Just get through this.

They burned beautifully. Or. Horribly. Since they were still his own corpse even as they burst into flame. It was his eyes that stared up at him as the things fell to the ground, his skin that bubbled and boiled in the heat of his flame. But they stopped moving, at least. And when they were dead, they dissolved into nothing. 

**Do you think you can win here? In my domain?**

Ajuaen tried to ignore the demon, and kept an eye out for any more of the horrible dopplegangers. He followed Fen’Harel into a canyon of some kind, with stone structures built into the sides. Old bridge supports, maybe. It was hard to tell. He had never been one to walk the Fade unaided. They walked on, and the canyon grew narrower; the walls closing in. It made Ajuaen nervous. This would be the perfect place for an ambush. 

Finally, the canyon came to an end, at an enormous gate that was set into the rock. Ajuaen moved towards it to touch the gate and find out how it worked, when Fen’Harel howled. An ambush. He  _ knew it _ . 

**Did you think this would be that easy?**

He didn’t, but it would have been nice. 

There were more of the - things. He could have gone the rest of his life without seeing any more of them, but they were everywhere. Just swarm after swarm of them, without end. He called down fire from the sky, brought fire up from the earth, conjured a giant firestorm that filled the canyon and obliterated everything in its path, he kept conjuring and conjuring until he felt weak in the knees and a sharp pounding in his head.

Fen’Harel had gotten - bigger. He was as tall as Ajuaen now, and getting bigger with each demon  _ thing _ they killed. Was he  _ eating _ them? Ajuaen didn’t want to know. 

Finally all the  _ things _ were gone, and something else formed in front of them. A fear demon. Of course it was a fear demon. At least the  _ things _ made sense now. He prepared to do battle, but instead, Fen’Harel  _ pounced _ . One giant wolf against one regular sized demon and - oh, yep. Yes he was eating them. Uuugh. Fen’Harel latched onto the fear demon and crunched it between his jaws, then he shook it vigorously. Then he tossed it high into the air, and as it descended, his jaws snapped around it. He swallowed noisily, which was honestly disgusting. Then he turned to look at Ajuaen, and seemed awfully pleased with himself.

“Yes, yes, you’re a powerful, ancient being. You’re also gross, and terrible, and I hate you. Can we go now?”

Fen’Harel huffed, and walked over to the gate, pressing his nose against it, then leaning back and whining while he looked at Ajuaen.

“You’re pathetic. Yes, I’ll open the door for you.”

Ajuaen walked to the door and examined it, and then recoiled in horror.  _ Why was this here?! _ It was one of his father’s more vile creations. A nasty piece of magic that was extremely effective at sealing things. It could only be opened by sacrificing a certain number of slaves after they’d been sealed off from the Fade, and using their skulls to see keys that resided in a special place in the Fade; neither in the Fade or out of it, in the place that connected. Between. A barbaric invention requiring a barbaric ritual.

When he’d killed his father, these doors were some of the first things he’d set about cleaning up. He’d stopped production immediately, and burnt any research he could find on how to create them. He’d then set about destroying as many of them he could get his hands on, but more than one of them resided in a temple belonging to one of his rivals, and even at the height of his power, Ajuaen had not been able to go up against the rest of the pantheon. That had been the whole point of putting up the Veil in the first place, sealing them away because neither he nor Solas were powerful enough to kill them all. 

The point being, this shouldn’t be here. Although. This was the Fade, so it drew its strength from Ajuaen’s will, and between himself and the lyrium in his skin, he had more willpower than most. So if he just -

He laid his hand against the door, and concentrated. The door wanted thirteen keys, but Ajuaen would only give it himself. The door was not quite sentient, but it had Purpose. It was to remain sealed, until presented with thirteen keys. But - it liked Ajuaen. Almost everything created by his father liked him, though not as much as things he’d created himself. Even things created by others, unrelated to him, liked him. They liked to help him, please him, do as he willed. So, this door had Purpose, but if Ajuaen changed its Purpose, just a little, not to accept thirteen keys but one. Or rather, One.

His brands lit up, greedily channeling magic through him here in the Fade, where thought was magic, where will was creation. His brands grew hot, and he cried out, but remained firm. The door should let him through, because he had what it needed. All it needed was him.

Slowly the keyholes began to fill with liquid lyrium, as if pulled from Ajuaen’s own body. His will, just enough to open the door. The gate - sighed. It had completed its Purpose, it was finished. It evaporated into the air, and behind it - 

His memories. Brilliant white light, swirling about a cavern that stretched further than he could see. Memories floated past him, snatches of conversation heard as they brushed past his ears, textures beneath his fingers as one touched his finger, a cacophony of noise. A lifetime of memories that he couldn’t hope to collect, much less organize in any manner.

Fen’Harel howled again, and the memories swirled around the cavern, buzzing like angry bees. He howled a second time, loud and long, and they grew tighter together, packing closer and closer. And then a third time, and something - appeared - within them. A spirit, binding them all together. The memories coalesced from a swirling mass into a glowing white figure. 

_ Hello. It has been a long time, dear wolf _ . The spirit said. Its speech sounded like ten thousand voices all speaking at once, and buzzed so hard in Ajuaen’s ears it made his teeth itch.

The wolf huffed, and then scraped at the ground a bit, before looking over his shoulder and giving a long sniff, and a growl.

_You are right. We should go._ _Come, son of June. I will show you the way._

Some day, Ajuaen would get everyone to stop calling him the son of June. For now, he settled for taking the spirit’s hand.

He was whisked away from the demon’s domain, into another part of the Fade entirely. This place felt - better. Cleaner. There hadn’t been any demons here in a long, long time. It was like the Great Libraries of Arlath’an, which tied the entire realm together. Where the elves kept their collective knowledge, where gods and slaves alike stored their memories. With a species that did not die from old age, steps had to be taken to protect against madness from the build up of memories across millenia.

Supposedly Andruil had gone mad from her hunts in the Void, but Ajuaen was of the opinion that she’d gone insane because she refused to store her memories in the library. The halls of knowledge and memory had always been under Solas’ domain, and Andruil had declared a blood feud against him from the moment he’d spurned her advances and taken one of the Forgotten Ones as a lover. Neither her nor her acolytes nor her priests nor her slaves were permitted to store their memories in the libraries, and all of them had suffered madness as a result. The regular trips into the Void hunting Solas’ lover probably hadn’t helped.

Without access to libraries, elves could go insane from the pressure of memory piled upon memory. Or they could become like Ajuaen apparently had been before stabilizing the breach, new memories overwriting the old ones, unable to recall past a certain defining event in their lives. But most often they simply became - lost. Confused. Wandering through life, remembering days past the same as the day before, unable to think in straight lines, or to remember their place in the world. Some elvhen philosophers had done this on purpose, claiming that being able to experience the world as one singular moment in time - always in the  _ now _ allowed them to be better at their work, to interpret the world without being clouded by unnecessary thought. Ajuaen thought it was an excuse to escape their duties, colored by pretty words.

Fen’Harel’s tail wagged as he approached the spirit, who chuckled as his excitement. Then the wolf changed, shrinking, front legs retracting, back legs straightening, until it was Solas who stood there instead. He wore not the battle armor that Ajuaen was used to seeing him in, nor the rags he’d been dressed in at the human’s camp, but something in-between. Furs and finely woven cloth, a comfortable outfit in which he could be at ease, but appropriate for his station. He wore some jewelry as well - the wolf’s jawbone necklace that he was never without, a few bracelets on his arms, mostly in silver but a few in gold, and a ring that Ajuaen had given him on his middle left finger. A deliberate choice, meant to set Ajuaen at ease. For now, he’d allow it.

Then Solas hugged the spirit, a bright, joyful grin on his face. Ajuaen watched the two of them talk to each other, Solas excitedly and the spirit calmly but with a smile of her own. When they finished exchanging pleasantries Solas turned and introduced her to Ajuaen. 

“Ajuaen, this is my friend Wisdom. She helped me after I woke from my slumber. We were friends long before the Veil was raised, but when I woke alone after my long slumber, she found me and helped me understand what had transpired while I slept. I would have been lost without her. She used to manage the libraries of my temple, so I thought perhaps she could help you organize your own memories.”

Honestly there wasn't a better option. Ajuaen wasn't entirely certain how much he trusted Solas, but it wasn’t like he had a lot of other options. Solas definitely had his own agenda for being part of the human Inquisition that he hadn't shared with Ajuaen, and probably never would. He had always been a liar. Solas thrived on the edge of both worlds, travelling freely between the Forgotten Ones and the Evanuris. Solas was whoever he needed to be to be accepted as a friend among whomever he needed to charm to get what he wanted. He and Mythal had saved Ajuaen from a slow and painful death, and yet Ajuaen had never felt like he truly understood their motivations. And while he might understand Solas’ reasons, Ajuaen still hadn’t forgiven him for raising the Veil alone.

Regardless, the skills of a spirit of Wisdom, especially one previously acquainted with being a librarian for elvhen memories would be invaluable. And while she was a friend of Solas, spirits were very good at maintaining neutrality. There was a good chance that she would keep his memories separate from Solas’ even without him having to ask. She would likely not tell either of them what the other was doing and help them both eagerly, which suited Ajuaen just fine. As long as neither of them forced her to work against her Purpose she would be helpful, friendly - and most importantly - stay uncorrupted.

“I would be honored to have you assist me,” Ajuaen said.

“You have many memories here,” said Wisdom. “They have not been organized in a very long time. I see that they have been split at a time of great upheaval, separated into two halves of what was once whole. What is it you seek to gain by storing your memories?” 

Ajuaen looked sidelong at Solas, but he didn’t have much of a choice other than to explain his plans. “Ideally I would retain some of both memories. In order to currently function in the world as it is, I need to know how to speak the common tongue. I need to know what I have been doing since the Veil was raised, and understand the state of my people. I also need to know the most recent events quite thoroughly - from the moment that I gained Solas' Mark until now. This will allow me to plan and work forward. However I still need to remember who I am in order to use my abilities to their fullest. Not just one or the other, but a blend of both.” 

It was a long list of goals, but the spirit of Wisdom seemed pleased. “We can do this. You have a highly organized mind and though the volume of memories is great and somewhat disjointed, each of your memories has maintained connections to the events around them, and your overall sense of self is strong. Therefore, it should be fairly straightforward to pull the memories that you need and store the rest. Solas can show you the way here so that you may visit any time you sleep and exchange memories add or remove them. That being said, this will be quite an arduous undertaking, so if we could begin?”

Ajuaen looked at Solas again, who shrugged, entirely too casual for the situation at hand. “I'll help in any way I can.”

“Fine. Let us begin.”

Time was strange in the fade so Ajuaen couldn't say exactly how long it took them to get his memories in order, but it felt like a very long time. Each memory was a page and pages were sorted into books, which were delegated to years, which were placed on shelves that represented centuries, which were placed into bookshelves which contained millennia. It was very orderly and straightforward but as the spirit had said very time-consuming. 

Once everything was ordered correctly and laid out before him, the spirit of Wisdom helped him choose the memories that he needed. Enough so that he could function, that he could remember his magic and the rituals that he had created, and the most important parts of his background that made him who he was. And yet, he would not be overwhelmed by the day-to-day minutiae of what he'd eaten for breakfast seven centuries ago, or who had argued about what on the Thursday before last millenia, or what the elves were killing each other about that week. 

There was a lot of pain and sorrow in his memories after the Veil but there was also a lot of good as well. He learned he'd been traveling with the same group of clans for quite some time. He had remained immortal while the elves around him withered and died of old age, which had been especially traumatic since he had lost his memories and did not know why they died and he did not. (He still didn’t know for certain, but likely it had something to do with him being a member of the elvhen pantheon. Gods persisted, even when the reason for their worship had faded to time.) 

He had helped his host clans as much as he could with his limited knowledge, making things for them, hunting for food, and protecting them with his magic. They had stayed relatively separate from the rest of the clans after one particularly awful clansmeet when the elves clashed over their gods. The other wanderers worshipped the fallen Pantheon, while the clans that traveled with him worshipped Ajuaen, god of creation. They had come to blows, elves had died on both sides. Ajuaen had wept for his people. They had wandered alone after that. 

He had his given his own markings to his people as vallaslin. At the time, he hadn't remembered what they meant - not really. Now that he had restored his memories and he knew what they meant, he felt regret. He had been trying to protect his clan with his mark, to show that they had a living god who still cared for them, who walked with them, and had not died. It was a twisted form of the truth, formed by dreams and happy memories, and the fact that he lived on and on while his people died. He'd become their god because they had clung to him, needed him, worshiped him, looked to him for guidance when there was no one else to turn to. He hadn't meant to make them slaves.

Solas clearly did not know the circumstances of his wandering, or they would have come to blows already. Ajuaen decided not to bring it up for now. He was still angry about the Veil, and about Solas' Mark on his hand. They didn't need another thing to fight about. 

There were many more important things he had to do than shout at Solas, such as wrangle an entire camp full of humans who believed that he was the avatar of some human goddess. He had - a lot of feelings about that. Most of them were not positive. How could they reject elhven gods in one hand - he  _ remembered _ the exalted march - and in the same breath declare him an agent of their own god? It was disrespectful at best, and it tore at something deep within him, that they would dare to try to erase good identity in such a way. That they would do so to any of Ajuaen's people. What would they say if they learned of Ajuaen's divinity? Would they refute his truth, or would they have him killed for herasy? He did not care to know. Not for the first time, he wished he didn't need them. Some day, he would have an army of his own people, and he would show the humans exactly what he thought about their careless erasure.

That all being said, gods and goddesses were useful. If he played things right, he could accomplish many things in the name of the human god. He would have to watch out for Solas as well, since they likely had different goals for the direction of this Inquisition. For now, Ajuaen's goal was to heal the Veil, while likely Solas' aim was to tear it down. But he would address one apocalyptic problem at a time. Stop demons from pouring into the world, stop whoever had actually ripped open the Veil vail (which was clearly not Solas or his own magic wouldn't have been burned into Ajuaen's hand.) Once he'd done that, he would figure out how he to help his People. He would not let Solas' decisions come back on the elves, and for that, the humans could not learn the truth of how the Veil was ripped asunder. Humans killed and enslaved his people enough as it was.

He would have to worry about the gate of his people another time, because they had finally finished their rask. Wisdom took Ajuaen's hand, and with a gentle push, he fell out of the dream and the Fade, and back into the waking world, where he promptly passed out from exhaustion into a dark and dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know mages always enter the Fade when they sleep. *handwaves contradictions away*
> 
> Fear my terrible Elvhen:
> 
> “Andran atishan, da'len. Iras ise Solas?” - Good morning child, where is Solas?
> 
> “Ahn?” - What?
> 
> “Iras ane ma?” - Where are you?
> 
> I'm so bad at languages, and Elvhen is actually a cipher that contradicts the shit out of itself, please send help.


	3. The Hinterlands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed some new tags in this chapter. I honestly forgot about them until now, though I think that's part of the fun of reading a WIP, seeing how the story evolves. I'll probably continue to add tags as we go along, especially since some chapters aren't written yet.
> 
> Note on character tags - adding people as they get speaking roles. By the time we're done that character section is gonna be LARGE.
> 
> Welcome to the chapter of run on sentences. May the gods have mercy on your soul.

Ajuaen had to table his plans for murdering Solas in his sleep. He needed the other elf's help with the Breach, and he was kept too busy to put any real effort into planning an assassination attempt. Not that he really wanted Solas dead. But the elf was _infuriating;_ even more now when no one else knew who he really was. Smug bastard, pretending all his ancient knowledge came from dreams in the Fade, and all the idiots around him just ate it up, because apparently any real knowledge of the Fade had been lost between the Veil going up and the religious insanity that surrounded mages in southern Thedas.

The Inquisition seemed to be his best chance at actually getting things done, even if it chafed at him to go along with anything that stemmed from the Chantry who opposed literally everything he was. But like always, in order to enact real change they needed power, influence, an army. As much as he'd have liked to, Ajuaen couldn't undo everything himself. He needed the Inquisition and they needed him, since it didn't seem like Solas' power would be leaving his body any time soon.

This meant that he spent the next month running himself and his new companions ragged. They visited the Hinterlands, cutting a swath across the landscape, putting down Templar and Mage rebellions alike, securing horses, killing demons, closing rifts. He met with Mother Giselle, who provided him an in to Val Royeaux. That visit was - informative. He got to hear exactly what they thought about him in person, with the added bonus of meeting what was left of the Templar order. Ajuaen was not impressed.

With the Chantry powerless, Ajuaen had to seek power elsewhere. This involved recruiting the only Grey Warden left in Fereldan, along with joining up with an elf who refused to be acknowledged as an elf, (but who had a penchant for causing mischief and lived to take her enemies down a peg). It also meant hiring a mercenary band and making a shaky alliance with a mage who thought that Circles were a tradition that needed to be preserved, which Ajuaen had Opinions about.

He didn't get along with all of them. Blackwall was guarded, but seemed competent, and genuinely willing to help find out where the fuck all the Grey Wardens had gone. That was good, because if there was a group of people Ajuaen wanted to keep an eye on, Grey Wardens were high up on the list. Useful for stopping blights, but dangerous, even if he didn't share Solas' absolute hatred of them.

Sera was a _delight_ , even if she and Solas couldn't be within fifty feet of each other without nearly coming to blows. He appreciated Sera's blunt opinions – you knew exactly where you stood with her, and he liked that. And the fact that she had an entire network of people dedicated to taking nobles down a peg – _especially_ Orlesian nobles, well. Sera still had some reservations about joining the Inquisition, and following around such an “elfy” elf, but he didn't hold that against her. Only time would really tell how things would shake out between them, but he was optimistic that they'd become friends.

The Iron Bull was much the same, in that he was blunt about why exactly he wanted to get close to the Inqusition. Ajuaen had not interacted with Qunari much as he wandered through the ages, and while he did _not_ approve of how they treated their mages, he could appreciate that they occupied a very important place in the military hierarchy of Thedas, and that their ongoing conflicts with Tevinter kept Tevinter from turning any eyes south. For the sake of avoiding an invasion on top of everything else that was going wrong in the world, he was more than happy to ally - however tentatively - with the Ben Hassrath. Plus, he couldn't deny that he liked watching Bull work. All those muscles, the way he swung that giant axe, his general aversion to shirts – there was a lot to like there.

Vivienne was another story altogether. They would never be friends, and as soon as the Veil was repaired they would likely become bitter enemies. However, he was not Fereldan, he was not human, he had never been in a Circle. He needed Vivienne's opinions, if only to learn how to counter them. He could not afford to turn her away and lose his only insight into just how bad things had been, or how the Chantry would likely attempt to fix them the moment they returned to power. Vivienne had joined the Inquisition for much the same reason, and so they danced around each other, icily polite when they spoke at all.

He wanted to like Cassandra. He admired her strength, both moral and physical. He admired her commitment to her ideals. Unfortunately her unshakable faith was not his faith, her morals not his morals. She was almost as much of an antithesis of everything he was as Vivienne, but at least Cassandra could admit when she was wrong. They had settled into a professional working relationship, and as long as they didn't discuss mages, elves, or religion, got along well enough. Whether they'd ever be able to work past those barriers Ajuaen wasn't sure, but then again, he wasn't really in this to make friends. He wanted to close the Breach, and he knew he could depend on Cassandra to help him do it. After that, well, who knew if they'd even be alive after that.

Varric, by contrast, was impossible not to like. He was a storyteller, and a good one. He could make Ajuaen laugh, which was invaluable when everything else was going to shit. He had a good heart, too, and clearly cared deeply for those he considered friends. He was also a liar. Ajuaen had dealt with Solas for long enough to know when someone wasn't telling him everything. Cassandra was insistent he must know where the Champion was, and he probably did. But he wasn't going to tell them, and Ajuaen wasn't going to force him. Varric was protecting his family, and Ajuaen respected that.

As for the advisors, Cullen seemed good at what he did, and friendly enough, but he had been a Templar, and Ajuaen still wasn't sure what to make of that. He seemed awfully skittish around Ajuaen as well, and sometimes he'd stare at Ajuaen's brands when he thought Ajuaen wasn't looking. It was actually very creepy. Ajuaen didn't know what to think.

Josephine was a skilled diplomat, had a nice, friendly smile, and Solas liked her. She played the Game with ease, something Ajuaen had never been able to do, and made time to try to get to know him as a person, when either of their schedules allowed. He was teaching her some elvhen, and she was teaching him Antivan. The Inqusition wouldn't last a week without her.

Leliana was not someone who Ajuaen wanted to cross. She was dangerous in a way none of the rest of them were, except perhaps Solas. If Ajuaen stepped out of line, if she honestly ever considered him a threat, he wholeheartedly believed that she would take him out without hesitation. As it was, he was useful. Whether they could ever move past that to build something more, Ajuaen couldn't say. He was respectful, and professional but he never really relaxed unless he was in his own quarters, behind wards. She had spies _everywhere._ Which was good, for the Inquisition. Less so for his own peace of mind.

Regardless, they were few in number, but together made a competent team, and within a relatively short amount of time, the Inquisition found itself in a position to finally secure the help with closing the Breach that they so desperately needed. As the Templars had been openly hostile, while the mages had invited him to Redcliffe to speak with them, Ajuaen headed to Redcliffe to get a feel for the situation.

He wasn't expecting things to go smoothly – at the end of the day, he was elvhen, and they were Circle mages. Their lives had been so completely different they may have well been Templars, for all they had in common. With the separation of the Veil, interacting with other people, interacting with other _mages_ even, was like speaking to people sleep walking. Ajuaen had had millenia to get used to it, but at the time, he himself had been sleepwalking, as he lost more and more of himself to the Veil. Now that his memories had been restored, everything had the quality of feeling not quite real. Magic was so much more than mages made of it, and there were so many without any connection to the Fade at all. It was disturbing, unsettling, and repairing the Breach would only make it worse.

Still, he hadn't expected a magister. He hadn't expected the sickly sweet poison smile, the not-quite-right feeling of everything in Redcliffe, like a song played just one note off-key. He certainly hadn't expected Felix, who was so obviously ill, and who yet...tried to help him. Or perhaps it was some kind of elaborate trap. He'd half been expecting the magister to try to snatch him the moment they'd both sat down. That was what magisters did with elves, after all.

xxx

Ajuaen wasn't exactly sure what to expect when he walked into the (most likely) trap in the Redcliffe chapel, but it wasn't a handsome, smarmy Tevinter killing a never-ending horde of demons pouring out of a rift like he'd been born to do it. The Tevinter man in question dispatched the last two demons of the current wave with a flourish and smiled disarmingly at him.

“Ah, good, you're finally here. Help me close this, would you?”

Ajuaen fought not to roll his eyes. Ridiculous. And yet – charming. If you couldn't laugh in the face of certain death, how could you get through the end of the world? Especially if you'd just remembered that you were an elvhen god, and had come straight from a screaming match with _another_ elvhen god who was directly responsible for your current issues. So, perspective. And a lot of laughter, or else you'd just start screaming.

He let The Iron Bull take the front line, charging in with a roar and doing an excellent job of distracting demons (and the Tevinter) alike, while Varric shot bolt after bolt into the horde from the safety of the chapel door and Solas covered them all with the cool wash of a barrier, before turning his attention to their enemies. Ajuaen grappled with Solas' fucking anchor, and it resisted him, like it always did. It _recognized_ him, and it didn't like him, or the way he liked to do magic. Which was just too fucking bad, because the had things to do, which included _cleaning up Solas' mess_ , so his magic could just get _over_ it already.

Finally he seemed to reach an accord with the thing, and with a snarl and a flash of his lyrium brands, he opened his left hand wide, his right bracing on his staff. The rift ripped open, and all the demons that had been coming through were suddenly pulled back the other way, back into the Fade. Then with a scream he closed his hand into a fist and the rift sealed itself closed, the Veil whole once more, if thin.

The Tevinter looked intrigued, yet horrified. “You're – but you're not - _how_ do you have those brands?”

Varric was the one who sighed, swinging Bianca up and over his shoulder while Bull grumbled something about how he _wasn't done yet_ , and said, “Well shit, you know Broody?”

“I know about Danarius' little project if that's what you mean. I don't think there's an Altus or Magister in the entire country who didn't hear about it. We actually had to study it in school,” he said with a twist of his mouth. “Nasty business.”

Ajuaen mentally accelerated his plans to burn Tevinter to the ground.

“Not that anyone ever managed to replicate it, which brings me to the point – _how_?”

“I've had these brands far longer than Fenris. Who is a living, breathing being who didn't deserve to be mutilated – culturally acceptable slavery practices or no,” Ajuaen said, struggling not to just reach out and shake the man. If _one more person_ compared him to Fenris -

“Ah. Yes. Well,” the man didn't seem to know how to continue; obviously aware he'd just stepped in the middle of something and not sure how to get back to the charming stranger bit he'd been playing before.

Ajuaen took pity on him, since they needed information and the man had single handedly prevented demons from swarming Redcliffe until he'd gotten there. Everything else – and there was a lot of _else_ between himself and anyone from the nobility in Tevinter, charming or not – could wait.

“Who are you?”

This rejoinder seemed to rejuvenate the man. “Ah, getting ahead of myself I see. Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?”

Varric sighed, and Bull, who'd pulled his axe out of a demon's corpse and was in the middle of wiping it down muttered, “Watch yourself, the pretty ones are always the worst.”

 _If only he knew how right he was_ , Ajuaen thought, glancing over at Solas' sharp cheekbones and piercing eyes and stupid, kissable lips before glancing away again. That had been a long, long time ago, after all, and they were basically brothers now so. Best not to think about it at all. Hopefully this Dorian wasn't anywhere near as dangerous as Solas, though there probably weren't many in this Age who actually could be.

“An me! Cecily!” came a small, piercing voice, which completely interrupted whatever Dorian was about to say, as he paled.

“Ah, yes. And Cecily.” And he brushed aside the cloak that Ajuaen had honestly thought was for dramatic effect to reveal a hip sling which contained a very tiny human.

“You brought your _daughter_ to fight demons?!” Varric yelped, before Ajuaen could make his own judgments.

“She's my _sister_ , thank you,” Dorian snapped, “and where exactly was I supposed to leave her? With my former master, who's lost any morals he may once have possessed and also gone completely fucking insane? It's not like I carry a babysitter in my back pocket!”

“No, just a baby,” The Iron Bull said dryly.

“Fucking!” Cecily shouted.

Dorian groaned and sat down on one of the church pews, putting his head in his hands while his sister hit his side repeatedly with her chubby hands and said “ _f_ _ucking!”_ repeatedly in a cheerful voice.

“This isn't at all how I wanted this to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray! Dorian's here! With a +1 ;3 Were you surprised?
> 
> Just a heads up, I try very hard to work Dorian through his social issues. The fact that there's never A chance to really help him realize how bad slavery is and why, and that it really really doesn't matter if his family 'treats them well,' was one of my biggest problems with his character. I honestly feel like it would really prevent any sort of lasting romance with an elvhen Inquisitor. But he is trying very hard to undo decades of societal brainwashing, and slavery is part of that, so hopefully that comes across well as we go along.


	4. A Ritual Is Conceived

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead, hooray!! I finally fell into the black hole that is Fire Emblem Three Houses, which if you don't know is a 200+hour jrpg. Pray for me.
> 
> Hoping to get at least monthly updates out but soon there will be animal crossing and Persona 5R (another 200+ hour jrpg) FF7 remake (hey look a THIRD jrpg), so we'll see how that goes.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's still reading, y'all are wonderful.
> 
> And now, finally - a chapter!!

The Herald insisted on speaking to Dorian further, and equally insisted that the Chantry, where anyone could show up at any moment, was not the place to do so. They reconvened at the inn, sneaking Dorian and Felix in. This was easily accomplished by virtue of Ajuaen walking around on the main road with his brands on full display, talking loudly and animatedly to The Iron Bull about anything and everything and attracting the attention of the entire town. This allowed the rest of them to go around to the servants entrance and up to the private set of rooms Varric had apparently acquired earlier.

There was food, ale, and a half-decent wine that Dorian would have liked to have had more time to appreciate. Alas, it was not too be. Cecily wiggled out of her sling and insisted on meeting everyone and telling them all about her adventures. She especially seemed to enjoy The Iron Bull, who crouched down low so he could speak to her more easily, and let her grip his horns and touch his face and nearly stick her fingers up his nose, with nothing more than a laugh. Dorian wanted to be wary of him, but he was so  _ good _ with her, he couldn't help but smile.

After they had eaten, the Herald addressed Dorian and Felix directly. “May I speak to you, alone?” He gestured to the adjoining room.

Dorian and Felix shared a glance, before they both rose from their seats. Dorian had a moment of anxiety about leaving Cecily in the room with strangers, but she'd climbed into Varric's lap by then, and Varric was in the middle of some wild tale that had her utterly transfixed. It would have to be alright. She'd be safe, he told himself.

They went to the next room and Ajuaen closed the door, and threw up an eavesdropping ward, “just to be safe,” he said.

Then he returned to stand near the fireplace, and put his hands behind his back, before looking at Felix with a serious expression.

“What if I cured you?”

“I'm sorry?” Felix said.

“If I cured you, would your father consider switching sides? Would he tell us everything he knows about the Venatori, stop trying to kill me, release the mages from their service, and fuck off back to Tevinter?”

“I have the Blight. There isn't a cure,” Felix said bluntly. When Dorian put a hand on his arm, giving him a sorrowful look, he said, “you know it's true. The thought of a cure caused this madness.”

“But if I could.”

Felix sighed. “If the cost was something I could live with. He. Yes, he probably would.”

“Good. I need to do some research, and gather some materials...we'll need a ritual space. I assume you can't travel far?”

Felix shook his head. “Father would notice. He's got someone watching me almost every moment of every day.”

“We'll need a distraction, then. It's a pity Blackwall isn't a better actor; if he claimed to know the Joining that would likely distract your father well enough.”

Dorian's eyes sharpened at that. “ _ Does _ he know the Joining?” If Felix could become a Grey Warden – that could change everything. They had searched for the Grey Wardens in the beginning, back before Alexius had descended into madness. The order had all but disappeared.

“Not that I've been able to get out of him, no. Apparently only certain senior officers are told those secrets, and Blackwall is the only Warden we've been able to find.”

It was a disappointment, but nothing that Dorian hadn't expected.

“Still,” Dorian mused. “If Alexius were to find out that you have a Grey Warden, that might be a fairly convincing distraction. Especially if he learns the man is in Haven. He might even ride out there to investigate for himself.”

“Leaving his private quarters empty,” Felix breathed.

“And his ritual space, yes.”

Ajuaen grimaced. “If the space has been used for blood magic, I can't use it. Such things...linger.”

Dorian would have liked to have said that Alexius didn't practice blood magic. Of course, that had never been true. Alexius  _ had _ practiced, and the only way for Felix to cast anything at all was to use blood magic, but they had only ever used their own. A glance at Felix was enough to tell him that this had changed. Apparently, there  _ were _ still ways that Alexius could disappoint him.

“There are some elvhen ruins in the Hinterlands. Old enough to be suitable, even if blood magic was ever practiced there. Sealed off, for now. I'd promised Solas we would investigate them, but there have been more pressing matters thus far.”

Dorian shrugged. “I don't know much about elvhen magic, but if you're certain the space will be sufficient.” It would be better than Alexius' labs, at any rate.

“I'll need a fortnight to gather materials and prepare the space, and test my theory. If all goes well, we can allow Alexius to hear rumors then, and once he's safely away, we can begin.”

Felix seemed hesitant. “I'll need to know what the ritual is before I can – I just. There are some things I won't do.”

“You always were the best of us,” Dorian said with a smile. He tried not to think about all the things Alexius must have done, to cause Felix to have such caution. He had always been so confident, before. Always seeing the best in everyone. Dorian had thought him charmingly naive at the time, and now he rather mourned that innocence lost.

“These,” Ajuaen lit his brands a moment, before allowing them to fade, “allow me to perform magic that would normally...” he trailed off, before grimacing. “Do you  _ really _ think I'd condone sacrifice, considering such sacrifices are usually my own people?”

That was a whole other conversation that they'd probably have to have, what with them being from Tevinter and the Herald being an elf, and the whole...enslavement of his entire race, thing. Dorian had opinions on slavery, and considered himself quite progressive in his thinking, compared to the rest of his country. And yet, he doubted Ajuaen would appreciate anything he had to say about the matter. Thus far, they'd avoided speaking of it.

“I've seen people do anything for power,” Felix said carefully, “regardless of race. I could not risk ignorance.”

“Solas won't approve, but beyond that, I promise, the only one at risk will be myself.”

“Can you afford that?” Dorian asked. “It's not that I am ungrateful; if you can truly heal Felix, that would mean everything to me. But you have the only means of closing Rifts. Can you truly afford to-”

Ajuaen held up a hand. “If I can solve this problem without bloodshed, I will. Avoiding an all out assault on Redcliffe is something I very much wish to do. We cannot afford to have war declared on us by the King of Fereldan, and I think it highly unlikely he would appreciate us storming his fortress, to say nothing of the casualties to our forces, the mage rebellion, and the citizens who still remain here.”

“When you put it that way...I suppose we may as well try,” Dorian agreed.

“Good. Now, there is something I need that you won't like.”

This was what Dorian had been waiting for – dreading. The other shoe dropping. And yet, Felix was the one to ask,

“What do you need?”

“A vial of your blood.”

A cry of outrage and disbelief left his lips before Ajuaen had even finished speaking.

“It's not like that,” Ajuaen said, but Dorian cut him off.

“It isn't  _ like _ that, he says. I've certainly never heard those words in Tevinter.”

Ajuaen's brands lit up, and for a moment, Dorian could have sworn his eyes sparkled like the night sky. “It  _ isn't _ . I need a sample from Felix that contains the taint. As he has very little hair, unless he wishes to cut off a finger, I need his blood. Or would you rather I try the ritual without testing it first?”

“Peace, Dorian.” Felix said, and Dorian tried to contain his fury. “If you deliver my blood personally, and stay with the Herald the entire time it's used, then...I'll allow it.”

“Thank you for trusting me.”

Felix barked a laugh. “I don't think I have much choice. But I don't want my father to die, if it can be avoided. I don't want  _ anyone _ to die. And it won't be the first time I've bled for an experiment.”

“ _ Felix _ ,” Dorian said, but Felix cut him off,

“Just do it.”

“What, here?” Ajuaen seemed shocked. “Are you  _ mad? _ You need a restriction circle at the very least, unless you want everyone to get the fucking Blight.  _ Please _ tell me Tevinter knows how to prevent spreading bloodborne – no, don't make that face at me,  _ fuck _ . Where's some paper? I need some fucking paper. And ink. Or charcoal; don't know how to make fucking restriction circles, how you ever managed to enslave my people, can't fucking believe,”

Dorian and Felix regarded each other with rather wide eyes as Ajuaen pulled out a tight roll of paper and a bit of charcoal out of his pack, summoned a wisp for better light, and started drawing an intensely complex ritual circle on the paper.

“Do you know what he's talking about?” Dorian whispered. “Didn't you study ritual circles at school?”

“I did my thesis on them, don't you remember? You were furious and deeply impressed at the same time.”

“Ah yes, I remember now. Rejected for publication in the Minrathous circle three times, even though it was half a dozen times more brilliant than anything they had us learning. Ten times more efficient, with minimal overflow. Safest fucking ritual circle I'd ever seen. Completely incompatible with blood magic, of course.”

“Which was the point.”

“Well yes. Even still. Preventing the spread of disease with a ritual circle? I've never heard of anything that could do that.”

“I should have taken more medical courses,” Felix said, “would have been more useful than the three years I spent studying ancient poetry.”

“Ah but that was such a romantic time for you.”

Ajuaen had finished the circle and now was drawing a disturbingly accurate image of a human arm, with the blood vessels and the direction of the blood labeled. He was still muttering, “no syringes of course, have to use a knife, sterilization, fucking barbarians, Sylaise would be horrified, blood mages, who even does that without knowing about a fucking restriction circle, idiots, too fucking old for this,”

“What's a syringe?” Felix asked.

“Fuck if I know,” Dorian replied. “Does he really think blood mages don't know how to sterilize their blades? They'd all have died of gangrene otherwise.”

“I'm not sure I really want to mention that, he looks pretty upset.”

“Good drawing though.”

Felix chuckled. “Maker, I have  _ missed _ you Dorian.”

“Yes, well, once we've been educated by our dear Herald, you'll be so healthy you'll never get rid of me.”

“We'll see.”

Ajuaen had flipped the parchment over and now was writing furiously on the back with perfect penmanship, in Tevene. Some of Dorian's professors would have actually cried with joy if he'd turned in an assignment half as good as the treatise Ajuaen was writing. Was this level of education  _ normal _ for the Dalish? He was aware his country had some rather poor opinions on other races, but surely someone would have told him if the elves had medical and magical knowledge that far outstripped anything Dorian had ever seen.

Well actually. No, they probably wouldn't have. But they  _ certainly _ would have stolen the ideas and published the books themselves, and then probably murdered the clan they stole it from. Which...could be why there were no Dalish clans within a hundred miles of Tevinter. News of that sort of widespread slaughter got around.

And then Dorian had the thought that maybe the Dalish  _ did _ have this knowledge, but they'd all been enslaved or killed by the slavers, who mostly stole children. Only the Herald's clan was said to come from very far southeast of Tevinter, so perhaps they had managed to retain their knowledge, and had his countrymen  _ really _ ...he couldn't think about it right now. There were so many things wrong with his country, he had to focus or he'd become overwhelmed with the majority of things he needed to change, and then he'd accomplish nothing at all.

“There,” Ajuaen said, and stood up again, and handed Dorian the parchment, which he'd cast a preservation spell on. It was a thing of beauty - not a spec of charcoal smudge anywhere. “Follow the ritual exactly, please. I'd rather not have to attempt to cure the Blight twice.”

“What am I going to do with Cecily?” Dorian said, because it had just occurred to him. He couldn't exactly just leave her in the next room to play with a Qunari, a dwarf, and an elf like he was right now.

“The Iron Bull will protect her with his life, Dorian.”

“I...don't like her out of my sight,” he admitted. Even knowing she was in the next room, having the door closed was making him anxious.

“Bull won't let anything happen to her Dorian, I swear. And if you don't trust that, trust that I am paying him a  _ lot _ of money. And if you can't trust  _ that _ , trust that Varric would shoot him through his remaining eye if he so much as makes her cry.”

“...yes, alright, fine,” he relented. He had known them all for less than a day, but if he couldn't trust someone who was close friends with the Herald, and  _ also _ had been close with the Champion of Kirkwall, who could he trust, really? Better than trying to get one of the mages here to watch her. Much less likely they'd sell him, or her, or both of them, out to Alexius. Plus Varric clearly  _ adored _ Cecily, and Cecily loved and trusted him instantly, in the way only a child really could. (Part of that may have been because she'd never seen a dwarf before, and had become instantly enthralled with his chest hair, but Varric had taken it with grace, and Dorian wouldn't forget that.)

“Only because she'd be in more danger with me,” Dorian finally agreed. It was the best option. He couldn't have her near any ritual they did involving the Blight. There were some risks he just wouldn't take.

xxx

Which was how he found himself in an elvhen ruin three days later. After the most efficient bloodletting Dorian had ever witnessed (though he had never practiced blood magic personally, one could not get through an education in Tevinter without becoming intimately acquainted with the process. Not to mention some of the parties he'd been to), he met a delightful dwarven woman in the crossroads who guided him across the Hinterlands to the ruin in question. The walk was much more pleasant than it had been when he'd first traversed the Hinterlands, as the Herald had apparently found both camps of Templars and Mages, and knocked their heads together until they managed to be civil. Dorian would dearly have loved to know how he had managed it without killing them all, but that story would have to wait for another time.

The ruin wasn't what he'd expected. Well, the  _ ruin _ was; it was a ruin, with the kind of bone deep magic in it that differentiated it from any other kind of ruin. This place was old –  _ very _ old. And likely had been sealed against any interference of people not elf-blooded. That wouldn't have stopped anyone in Tevinter, a little elvhen blood spilled and most of the old ruins cracked right open, but they didn't do that here, and Dorian let himself feel – glad, of that. Not that the humans here wouldn't have likely pillaged it given a chance, but at least its magical protections had been able to weather the ages and preserve whatever had managed to remain.

No, what really startled him was the camp that had been built around it. From a hundred yards away there was nothing, and then as soon as Harding stepped across a line he hadn't noticed before, the camp swam into view. An excellent use of rune work, set all around the camp and hiding it completely from view. Inside it was the same bustling place that all the Inquisition scouting camps across the Hinterlands were. There were tents, some soldiers playing cards, scouts talking among each other, and a few tables with provisions, potion making supplies and the like, and at least one person with a clipboard and parchment, making notes of everything. It wouldn't hold off a large scale force, but between the people here and the camouflage, this was as safe as any place was likely to be while there was still a hole in the sky.

“Well, here we are. Good luck with...whatever it is you're doing in there,” Scout Harding said cheerfully. “I'll be out here whenever you'd like to go back.”

She headed off towards the fire, already calling out to a few of the scouts milling around, before joining one of the games of cards. Dorian's destination lay rather farther in. He walked through the camp as quickly as he could; not appearing to run -  _ altus _ did not run - but he didn't dawdle either. At least none of them were likely to try to murder him on the spot, since he arrived with Scout Harding. But it was still an uncomfortable atmosphere. Dorian was used to being stared at. He was even used to being stared at with loathing, but the negative energy of everyone here was a bit beyond even what he was used to. Well, let them look. He was impeccably dressed, as usual, and he had business with the Herald. Anyone else would have to content themselves with hating him from afar.

No one was guarding the entrance to the ruin, but they didn't need to. A magical barrier flickered across the surface of the opening, which looked rather like the earth itself had opened its mouth and was trying to swallow them all. He reached into his robes, and pulled out a piece of parchment with a glyph that Ajuaen had left him with, and then pressed the paper to the barrier. It stuck and glowed faintly for a moment, before burning up completely. The barrier shimmered and then parted, allowing him inside.

It closed behind him. Dorian shivered for a moment. If the Herald wasn't here, and this was some kind of elaborate trap -

But no, he heard voices ahead. Angry voices, speaking in a language he didn't know. Elvish, probably, with the way the vowels all rolled together. He followed the flickering veilfire lights down the corridor, down some stairs, and out into what appeared to be the main chamber.

This chamber was much more brightly lit, veilfire ringing a ritual circle set into the floor. It was – intense. There was the main outer circle, with some of the strongest wards Dorian had ever seen, and then inside of it, four other circles. One contained a piece of quartz, flickering green when Dorian looked at it out of the corner of his eye. Fade touched. That circle contained a set of runes that would funnel power into the circle on its left, where Ajuaen stood. That circle also had two sets of runes leading back to the first. That would theoretically allow Ajuaen, or whoever was casting, to push power back and forth between the focus and themself, thus building up the power to the level needed to perform...whatever it was the Herald was trying to do.

The next circle had three rings of protective wards around it, and a very narrow channel of runes leading into it, which would allow Ajuaen to put power into the circle with no chance of it coming back out. Inside this circle was a pedestal, currently empty. Possibly, that was where the blood would go. Or...Felix, if this worked. The last circle was likewise protected, allowing no magical spillage from it back into the circle containing the Veil Quartz. It accepted a wide channel of magic from the blood circle, designed to draw whatever came from that circle into itself, and not to let it go again. Presumably, to take the Blight, and not allow it to leave, which would be a very good thing for everyone involved. Inside this last circle was another pedestal with a bowl on it, containing pure, liquid lyrium.

“Well, this all looks...extensive.” Dorian said.

The two elves whirled to look at him. Solas looked furious, and Ajuaen merely looked startled, but he relaxed into a smile.

“Dorian, you made it. We're just about ready for a trial.”

“We are  _ not _ ready for a -”

“No one asked you,  _ Solas _ . The Veil Quartz will serve sufficiently as a focus, you don't even need to  _ be here _ ,” Ajuaen snarled.

“You are so  _ infuriating _ ,”

They both bared their teeth at each other, and Dorian honestly thought they both might go for each other's throats in a moment. Normally he would have been very interested in watching that sort of thing, especially with someone as handsome as Ajuaen involved, but this was Felix's  _ life _ on the line.

“Do I need to come back later?” he asked, more than a little venom creeping into his tone.

Solas grimaced, and backed down.

“No. We're ready to start,” Ajuaen said.

“If  _ anything  _ goes wrong -” Solas interrupted.

“You'll stop the whole ritual. I  _ know _ Solas. I'm not a child. This isn't the most dangerous thing I've done, and you know it.”

Dorian didn't want to know what the Herald had done that was more dangerous than attempting to cleanse someone of the Blight using magic that hadn’t walked the earth in an Age. Walk bodily in the Fade, perhaps, if that was actually a true story. Honestly, perhaps he should have just taken Felix and made for the Western Approach. There were Wardens there - probably. This - he had no idea what he was getting into. Still, rather too late to back out now.

Solas made a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a sigh. “If you insist on proceeding with this folly, let's just – get it over with.”

“Excellent idea. You have the materials, Dorian?”

“Ah. Yes.” He pulled the warded, hinged box out of his satchel and carefully unwrapped it from the cloth that was protecting it.

“Put it on the pedestal and don't open it.”

“Right.”

Very, very carefully, he crossed the ward circles in the floor, (potentially dangerous even though they weren't active at the moment, though they'd been carved into the floor so at least he didn't need to worry about smudging an important line,) and gently placed the box on the pedestal. Then he stepped back out of the circles, just as carefully, and went to stand near Solas, where it was...well, not safe. But more safe. Relatively safe. As safe as he could get and still observe the ritual and make sure they weren't going to make a phylactery out of Felix's blood, or something equally barbaric. He wasn't exactly sure how he'd stop someone as powerful as Ajuaen appeared to be, but he'd manage. He'd given Felix his word, and he'd meant it.

Ajuaen took a deep breath, and let it out.  Then he did the last thing that Dorian had expected – he sang. It was an eerie sound, otherworldly, like nothing Dorian had heard outside of his dreams. With each note Ajuaen sang, it was like the ruin came alive around them. Magic stirred – old magic; very old. The runes in the floor woke up, and Dorian felt the rush of magic as each circle was completed, and dead stone came to life, filling with purpose and will. The last note of the song faded away and the circles were complete, the ritual ready.

Then he gestured, and a delicate application of Force was channeled through the runes, and opened the box, the clasp coming apart with a click, hinges working without sound. Within lay the vial of Felix's blood; such a small, simple thing containing unimaginable horror. Another touch of Force lifted the vial, turned it upright, and set it back down in a groove in the middle of the box, so that it stood unaided. Then a whisper, the barest nudge, and the cork came out of the top.

Dorian let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding when nothing happened. No sudden demon appearance, no shattering vial, no outpouring of the Blight into the air. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but nothing was about as the best outcome he could expect at this stage.

Ajuaen began singing, then, as before, only this time it was – more guttural. His brands lit, and Dorian could almost feel the pull of magic from the Fade – in with a breath, out with the song. In with a breath, out with the song, over and over. The power cycled through the two circles, from Ajuaen, into the Veil Quartz, and back again. In, out, in, out, in, out. His voice grew louder and louder with each pass, and the quartz grew brighter and brighter until Dorian couldn't quite look at it. Ajuaen's voice was vibrating the very air now, Dorian could feel it in his ribs. He didn't know what words Ajuaen was singing, but it didn't matter. His voice was Power, his words were Command. The feel of magic must have been overwhelming for Ajuaen; even with all the layers of protection between them the magic was so thick Dorian felt like he was being crushed, and he gripped his staff for balance.

With a scream, white hot power poured from Ajuaen into the circle with Felix's blood, burning away the first set of protections, then the second. The third grew the angry white-red of molten stone, but held fast. He could –  _ hear _ – the blood in the vial – or he could hear  _ something _ which shrieked over Ajuaen's shouted commands. The blood rose up out of the vial – no, it was an ichor, a pestilence, which came from the blood, forced out and into the air. The runes connecting the blood circle to the lyrium circle activated, and the ichor was drawn into it, where it dove straight into the bowl of lyrium, which turned an angry red.

When all the ichor was gone, the flow of power changed. No longer overwhelming Force and Spirit, this was raw Fire, focused through the two circles and directly into the lyrium circle. A column of fire erupted within the lyrium circle, stretching nearly to the ceiling. Ajuaen held it for nearly a minute while the red lyrium screamed in a thousand horrible voices, which echoed inside Dorian's skull even when he dropped to his knees and covered his ears.

And then it was over. Ajuaen staggered and fell, the warding runes winked out, and Solas rushed over to him, dragging him out of the circle and back against the wall, plying him with water, and looking at him with an expression somewhere between terror and fury.

Dorian looked at what remained of the ritual circles. The Veil Quartz was gone – vaporized by the power that had been passed through it. Similarly, there was nothing left in the lyrium circle but ash. The blood vial was intact, though all the runes around it were melted into slag.

“...is it safe?” he gasped.

“You can – ah, -” Ajuaen hissed, “you can replace the cork. It should be perfectly – ah! - safe.”

Dorian finally dragged his eyes away from the sight before him and took in Ajuaen's appearance. Solas had his hands hovering over the Herald, the soft green glow of healing emanating from them. Ajuaen had his head back against the wall, eyes closed, a grimace of pain on his face. His lyrium brands were  _ steaming _ in the air, and the skin to either side of each line was an angry red, growing less so as Solas worked.

“Did it  _ burn _ you?”

“I'm fine,” Ajuaen said, and then, after a sharp elvhen word from Solas that Dorian understood as profane, Ajuaen amended, “I  _ will be fine _ . Please. Take the blood. Ask Fiona to confirm; she was a Grey Warden once. It should be free from the taint.”

Dorian didn’t even bother to ask how the Herald knew about Fiona - presumably the Inquisition had a spymaster. And he was right, Fiona would know, if anyone would. There was a reason Alexius had stolen the magers, after all, and it wasn’t because he was lacking in servants. 

Solas snarled something else at Ajuaen, who stopped talking and let him work. Dorian decided it was time to go. He didn't need to see Solas' furious glare to know he did not need to be here for the fallout from this trial. He corked the vial, closed the box, and re-wrapped it before placing it in his pack. “I'll send word as soon as I know,”

“And we will plan our next step. This will work, I'm sure of it.”

Solas snapped something else at Ajuaen then, and Ajuaen snapped back, and soon enough they were whispering as heatedly at one another as they had been when Dorian had originally arrived. He saw himself out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! That was a long chapter, huh? I hope you liked my take on Elvhen magic. I’ve always been fascinated by holy geometry and ritual circles and stuff. And since we know fuck all about ancient elvhen, who’s to say they didn’t use this kind of magic? ;3  
> Generally the idea is that because Ajuaen is the god of Creation (the god of crafting, the god of the forge,) he makes stuff, usually with rituals. Instead of magic as we might know it in Dragon Age, where we usually see it being used for murder, Ajuaen does a lot of complex workings where he makes or enchants magical objects. All that shit in Solas’ temple? Yeah, Ajuaen made it for him. Those artifacts that strengthen the Veil? Ajuaen again. (And honestly, if Solas did have help with that stuff, with how enigmatic he likes to be, do you honestly think he’d ever admit it? Nah.)
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! This chapter and the next are some of my favorite chapters.


	5. To Do The Impossible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again a late posting, T^T. Honestly I thought working from home during the pandemic would mean I'd have all this time to be creative but really I just spend it either having a panic attack, or taking meds for a panic attack. I'll try to keep updating this story though! I've got five more chapters written, and it's my honest goal to finish this fic this year, so I'll do my best!
> 
> No particular warnings for this chapter.

It took Dorian longer than he wanted to catch Fiona alone, but he managed it almost two days later. She confirmed that the blood was completely free of the Blight. He hadn't told her where the blood had come from, letting her draw her own conclusions.

“Were you concerned you had become infected?” She asked. “Without actually ingesting tainted blood, you're really quite safe, Dorian.”

“...of course, yes, thank you. I just – needed to be sure. Thank you for your assistance.”

“Of course, Dorian. Now you must leave, quickly, before Magister Alexius returns.”

He'd left then, and gone to see Felix immediately.

“It worked, Felix,” he said, the moment he closed the door behind him.

“It – really?”

“Really. I wouldn't have believed it if I wasn't there personally. But he did it, and Fiona confirmed it, the sample you gave is completely clean.”

“That's impossible.”

“And yet it's true. The magic he performed, Felix, it was incredible. And without demons, or blood magic. I. It was amazing.”

“So that's it then, we're really doing this.”

“Unless you don't want to?” Dorian said, “It's still your body, after all.”

Felix shook his head. “No. I. I want to do this. To stop father, and obviously, I don't  _ want _ to die. I just didn't want my life to come at the expense of someone else's. If the Herald can truly do this, I will owe him – everything.”

“I'll send word; he'll want to make preparations immediately.”

“Just tell me what you need.”

xxx

True to his word, once the Herald had received confirmation of the ritual's success, it took a fortnight to put their plan in place. Rumors spread of a Grey Warden who had joined the Inquisition, who was testing potentials for the Joining. There had been rumors of Grey Wardens before, of course, but this had just enough weight to it to catch Alexius' interest. As the Herald was no longer in Redcliffe, Alexius took Fiona and headed for Haven himself.

Once the Inquisition's spies had confirmed that Magister Alexius was safely out of the way, Dorian, Felix, and Cecily traveled to the ruin with Scout Harding. Felix had been doing poorly for the last several days, but he was determined to see the ritual through. He was pale, and in a lot of pain, and they had to make several stops for him to be sick, but they all made it to the camp site safely. There, Dorian left Cecily with Varric and The Iron Bull. Any worries he still had were soothed by her shout of joy, and the way she ran over to them; Iron Bull picked her up and swung her around until she squealed in delight. She would be fine. He could trust them. He was already trusting the Inquisition with Felix's life; he would just have to trust they would keep Cecily safe as well.

Inside the ruin, the circles had been re-made larger and more complex, covering the entire floor of the chamber. There had been adjustments; the blood circle was now three times as large, with a stone dais on it, for Felix to lay down on, and were nine circles of protection around it, instead of three. Solas stood inside the circle which had once contained Veil Quartz, stripped to the waist and covered in white lines that mimicked the lyrium brands Ajuaen carried. He was wielding two staves - Ajuaen’s and his own, and they both had crystals set in the top that glowed with the unearthly sheen of fade-touched stone.

The biggest change of all was in the lyrium circle, where instead of a bowl of lyrium there was a pillar of it instead, as if someone had mined the entire thing from the earth and dragged it straight here. It too, had nine layers of protection around it, and for good reason. That much lyrium on its own could be lethal to anyone who wasn't a dwarf.

Ajuaen was naked, which was startling, but made some semblance of sense. If his brands were going to get even hotter than last time, he stood a chance of lighting his own clothing on fire, or having them melt and stick to him, which would be beyond unpleasant. He had a staff Dorian had never seen before, made completely of silverite, with lyrium runes etched across the surface, and an absolutely flawless crystal set as the focus. Expensive. Not as expensive as the pillar of lyrium, but still. This ritual must have cost a fortune. Dorian would have to figure out how to repay them, after. When everything was done, and Felix was ok.

“You made it here safely, then,” Ajauen said.

“We did,” Felix rasped. He wasn't trying too hard to hide how ill he was, but then there was no real point.

“You'll need to take your clothes off; sorry.”

“That's fine,” Felix said agreeably, his hands going to undo the clasp at his throat that held his cloak in place.

“Ah, you can leave them over here, let me show you,” Ajuaen said, and led Felix away by his elbow.

“Your staves, and any other magical items, need to be left outside, beyond the barrier,” Solas said. “There's going to be a lot more power than last time; we don't want to be pulling from any unprotected source.”

That made sense, though Dorian wished he'd known before. He could have left them behind on the way in. He glanced once at Felix, who was carefully undressing on the far side of the room. Dorian hated to leave him, but he'd be alright, for a few minutes.

When he returned, Solas stopped him before he could even step inside the chamber.

“Whatever happens, do not interrupt,” Solas said, as Ajuaen murmured something Dorian couldn't hear to Felix while helping him lay down on the - it was an altar. There were no other words for it, it was a fucking altar. 

“It is unlikely to be a pleasant experience for anyone involved, but if you attempt to stop the ritual, any or all of us could be killed.”

“This isn’t my first major ritual,” Darian growled.

“But it is the first time it involved someone you cared about, yes?” Solas’ eyes were piercing, like he could see right through Dorian and down into his soul. It was - uncomfortable.

“I. Yes.”

Solas nodded. “Stand there,” he pointed to a spot against the wall with its own set of protective runes, “and trust Ajuaen.”

“I do,” Dorian said, even as he swallowed back a nervous waver to his voice.

He stood where he was told, wringing his hands because there wasn’t anything else he could do. Felix was laying on the altar now, and Solas and Ajuaen were painting patterns on him with the same white pigment that decorated Solas’ skin. The scholar in him was fascinated, but the rest of him could only recall his own near disastrous brush with rituals in Tevinter.

“It isn’t blood magic, it isn’t blood magic, it  _ isn’t, _ ” he whispered to himself. Felix would be alright. He had to be. Ajuaen was the Herald, he’d walked in the Fade, they could do this.

Once everything was prepared, the two elves took their places in the circles; Ajuaen in the same place he’d been last time, and Solas taking the place of the focusing crystal.

Solas started the ritual, this time. He hummed low, deep notes, singing in eleven, Dorian assumed, though it sounded older,  _ richer _ ,  _ deeper _ than when he heard the elves singing in the kitchens. This was a song with purpose - old, ancient. It was - haunting. The staves glowed with magic, and it was channeled through Solas, through the runes, and into Ajuaen, who’s brands lit up with its presence.

Ajuaen took up a harmonic melody, his notes higher, dancing up and down the scale, weaving in and around and through the ones that Solas sang. As his voice danced, so too did his magic, which swirled through the circles, back to Solas, and returned, stronger and brighter each time.

The chanting went on for some time. Dorian was entranced, in spite of his terror. There was something very - elvish - about this, beyond just the singing. Tevinter magic didn’t work like this, didn’t build up power within the self. It was all about seizing, siphoning, sacrifice. Even Dorian’s practice of necromancy, where he resolutely did  _ not _ practice blood magic, he used the power of others to enhance his own. He took death and moulded its purpose, called spirits to do his bidding. He commanded.

This was almost - surrender. Serenity. Power freely given, using one’s own strength to complete a great working. And it clearly allowed for great feats to be performed, if they were successful. Would this ritual work for anyone, or just someone who had lyrium brands? Was this what Danarius had been aiming for, with his research? Had he known that elves could command such power? Dorian doubted it. There was precious little recorded about elvish magic anywhere, and even if this was what Danarius had been aiming for, he wouldn’t have been able to accomplish this. Not with an unwilling slave. Ajuaen commanded the ritual, and Solas assisted; a co-operation between equals, not between master and slave.

And yet - if he had been able to muster half as much power as was displayed here…Dorian was glad that the magister was dead, and that his Lyrium Wolf was unbound.

The air shimmered with magic, Dorian could taste it on his tongue. Ajuaen’s brands were so bright that Dorian couldn’t look at him. He focused instead on the sound, on the shine of sweat on Solas’ head, the only outward sign of the effort required to pull this off. He tried not to look at Felix, naked, prone, his eyes closed and his mouth twisted with a slight grimace.

The ‘crack’ of Ajuaen’s silverite staff hitting the stone beneath their feet startled him. Solas answered with a strike of his own, just slightly off beat, one staff after another. Ajuaen followed, and Solas repeated the rhythm.

Beat. Beat beat. Beat, beat beat. Beat, beat beat.

It rang out across the stone, over and over. It sounded like…a heartbeat, Dorian realized after a moment.

Felix cried out, and Dorian’s gaze immediately snapped to him. He was shifting on the altar, and there was an angry red glow that surrounded him. No - it was  _ coming _ from him. The Blight. Was it  _ responding _ to the song, to the rhythm? That wasn’t possible. The magic hadn’t even been poured into that circle yet. How - and yet, it was. With each strike, each simulated heartbeat, the aura around Felix grew larger, more agitated.

_ Don’t interrupt, don’t interrupt, don’t interrupt. _

Everything was getting faster, brighter, louder. Magic grew and grew, filling the air, pressing against him. Dorian was breathing it in, could taste it on his tongue, could hear it, feel it,  _ see _ it, a brilliant blue shimmer against the red of the Blight. He was shaking. He’d slid to the ground at some point, the magic too much for him. He gripped his arms with his hands, fingers digging in, bruising, his nails scraping against his skin.

This was. It was. He couldn’t.

Ajuaen screamed. Whether in reaction to the magic or whether this was part of the ritual, Dorian couldn’t say. He screamed, and screamed and screamed, and the sound tore the air. All the magic in the room rushed to him, through him, pouring through his body into the magic circle containing Felix. It filled the ritual circles with blue light, like lyrium, like liquid magic, filling up the runes, channeling up the grooves set into the altar, and swarming across Felix, guided by the lines that had been painted on him earlier. The Blight streamed out of Felix, black ichor with an evil red aura, pouring out from his body through every orifice.

Now Felix was screaming, and Dorian had to cover his ears, he couldn’t bear it. Ajuaen was screaming, Felix was screaming, and the heartbeat continued. Thump, thump-thump. Thump, thump-thump. Over and over and over and Dorian  _ could _ .  _ Not _ .  _ Bear it. _

Abruptly, all sound ceased. Dorian’s head snapped up in time for him to see the last of the Blight leave Felix, and be sucked out of the circle to swarm around the lyrium. It  _ invaded _ the lyrium pillar, devouring it until there was no trace of blue left, only a pillar of angry red, which buzzed in the silence.

Ajuaen looked exhausted. He was swaying, as if he was barely standing upright. His brands were still lit but had dulled considerably, and the skin around them was raw and angry. It looked excruciating. Solas didn’t look much better, pale, pale, his veins visible, mapped out against his skin, glistening with sweat, and a manic look in his eyes.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Ajuaen cracked his staff against the stone again, and after six beats, Solas answered.

Thump, thump-thump. The heartbeat echoed alone now, not accompanied by song or sounds of suffering. Dorian started counting, because there wasn’t anything else he could do, nothing else he could focus on besides Felix, who was unmoving, still on the altar. But not dead, not dead, not  _ dead. _

Felix sat straight up on the dais, gasping in a heaving breath. It scared Dorian nearly to death himself, but he was alive, and breathing. His eyes were haunted, and he looked like a freshly raised corpse, and Dorian had never wanted to hold him more.

Ajuaen lifted his staff off the ground and twirled it in one hand, the gem in the tip lighting up from within. He twirled it into his other hand, then in the air, then in front of him, the light shining brighter and brighter with each rotation. It shone like a star, too bright to look at, and then brighter still, so that Dorian could see it even when he shut his eyes and covered them with his hands.

There was a roaring like a great, primal beast, and a thousand whispered screams, until everything finally fell silent.

Dorian kept his eyes closed for a full hundred count, and then carefully opened them.

Felix was sitting, his legs swung off the dais, bare feet against the stone floor. He was still breathing heavily, bracing his hands on his knees, but he had lost some of the deathly pallor he'd had when they arrived. The lyrium circle was empty, the entire pillar vaporized by pure magic. Solas was on his knees, held up by the death grip he had on Ajuaen’s staff. The other lay in a pile of ash at his feet. Ajauen lay collapsed on the floor, unconscious.

“Herald!”

He shoved himself to his feet, and staggered. Most of his mana was gone, but he hadn't realized it until that moment. It felt like it had been drained right out of him; his reserves drained right down to the dregs. Dorian hadn't even noticed the spell had been affecting him. Had his foot crossed the line of protection, or had Ajuaen's pull affected him even through it?

“Ajuaen!”

“Don't,” Solas said, pushing himself to his feet. “I will tend to him. See to your friend. You are a necromancer, are you not? Make sure Death no longer lingers.”

Dorian would have argued, if he'd known even a single healing spell. Instead he went to Felix’s side, shrugging out of his own cloak and wrapping it around Felix.

“Oh, Dorian,” Felix said, his voice hoarse from screaming. “You're here.”

“Of course I'm here,” he said, “where else would I be?”

Felix shook his head and pulled the cloak tighter to him. “Sorry, everything is...very strange right now. How long was...it felt like forever.”

“I don't know,” he replied. “I could go outside and check.”

“No!” Felix grabbed at his hand. “No. Don't leave. Sorry, I-”

“It's alright, Felix. I'm not going anywhere,” he said, and put his arm around Felix's shoulders, bringing him close.

Felix seemed – very young. It reminded him of when Cecily sometimes had trouble falling asleep in the dark, refusing to settle down unless Dorian stayed close, with a wisp conjured for light. Felix trembled against him, gripping him tightly as if Dorian would disappear if he let go. Dorian pulled Felix to him until Felix's head was on his chest, Dorian's face pressed into the curly stubble that covered his head.

“We should rest, some place far from here,” Solas said, causing them both to look up. He held Ajuaen in his arms, still unconscious. Dorian could see that the Herald's skin was covered in burns, and he hissed in sympathy.

“I don't think Felix can go far.”

“It's not far. Come.”

“But you just said-”

But Solas had already turned away, and walked into the wall of the temple, and disappeared.

“Fuck, again?”

“...should we follow them?” Felix asked.

“I think we'd better.”

Standing was somewhat awkward, because Felix wouldn't let go of Dorian, but they eventually managed to get upright. “I'm not going to let go, Felix,” Dorian said, “but having my hand back would be helpful so I don't run us right into the wall.”

“...right. Yes. Right.”

Felix let go of his hand, and Dorian pulled him tighter, his hand firmly around Felix's waist. Together they hobbled over to the wall, and Dorian carefully put his hand where he thought Solas had disappeared. He met rough, damp stone, and cursed. He tried a bit to the left, nothing. A bit to the right, and his hand disappeared into the wall.

“Well that's unsettling. Nothing for it, I suppose,” he said, and together they went through the wall.

They stepped into a room that was little larger than a closet, but held a shimmering mirror within. Solas was nowhere to be seen.

“Is that?”

“I think it is.”

“Sorry, are you saying we should just go through the mysterious magic mirror?”

“Did you want to lay down out on the smoking ruins of a ritual that the entire circle of Minratheous together couldn't have performed?”

“Well when you put it that way, mirror it is.”

Magical exhaustion was almost like being drunk, in a way. It was difficult to concentrate, to walk, to do anything but pass out into a stupor. Everything was hilarious, or absolutely terrible, depending on what kind of drunk you were. Nothing felt quite real, almost like the soul and body had gone through a somewhat amicable divorce. The kind where no one was quite angry enough to up and leave, but they weren't getting along any more either. Much like some of the better marriages in Tevinter, actually. He felt like he’d lost his point somewhere.

In any case, going through a magic mirror into who knew where sounded like a pretty good idea, in the hope that there might be a bed on the other side. And maybe a cute serving boy or two. Dorian wasn't really thinking straight, but he knew that he didn't really want to pass out next to the creepy rune circles, and he definitely couldn't have made it back out to the camp, so the six steps through the mirror didn't seem that bad, in comparison, even though it could, in fact, lead  _ anywhere _ .

It just so happened to lead directly into a bedroom. The room was opulent, filled with artefacts on the walls and an entire wall of books, but Dorian only had eyes for the massive, massive bed, which looked like it would have been right at home hosting any of the orgys he'd participated in back in his less discretionary days. Solas was there, tucking Ajuaen in under the sheets and layers upon layers of furs. It looked so comfortable Dorian almost burst into tears.

“Feel free to sleep wherever you'd like,” Solas said, without so much as glancing up at them.

Dorian pulled Felix the three steps over to the bed, and laid him down. Felix went with a groan, and Dorian climbed up after him. There was enough room for at least three other people beside them before they would have been in danger of encroaching upon Ajuaen's space, but Felix plastered himself to Dorian's side anyway.

“Alright, it's alright, I'm right here,” he said, and somehow managed to get both of them under the covers, but not without a lot of undignified flailing.

“Sleep well,” Solas said, and with a wave of his hand, the lights winked out.

Just before Dorian fell asleep, he could have sworn he saw Solas' eyes twinkle, as if they were full of all the stars in the night sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently no one knows how Fiona was cured of the blight, so...I'm gonna say two super old elvhen dudes can manage it. *Handwavey magic*
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	6. Redcliffe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, it sure has been a year. I’ve been sitting on a few chapters in hopes I’d write more but it just hasn’t been happening, so I figured I’d at least start editing and posting the chapters that I do have, and maybe getting some motivation back.
> 
> Ok, sob story over lol.
> 
> Warning for this chapter - wow there’s a lot of characters in this chapter. Lots of dialogue from lots of different characters. Also, discussion of slavery features heavily in this chapter. I’m...still not completely happy with how I ended up handling it, but I think it fits the characters and the universe at least. But if that’s a trigger for you, maybe tread carefully in this chapter.
> 
> Also, we continue through un-beta’d waters. Hopefully I caught the worst of the errors but if you notice something, feel free to let me know.
> 
> I think that’s enough notes. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Edit: fixed a bunch of grammar and spelling mistakes, oh boy.

Ajuaen woke up sore all over but alive. He was in a tent, covered by blankets and furs and completely alone. There was a waterskin next to him which he opened and drank his fill before rinsing his mouth and spitting out the metallic taste lyrium always left behind when he used too much of it. He allowed himself a few more moments of rest before crawling out of the pile of furs. He managed to get dressed and take care of his other morning business, but he shook on weak legs. 

Living in a tent as part of the Inquisition as opposed to an aravel while surrounded by his family had been a large adjustment. At first glance, it wasn't all that dissimilar from life in a caravan and yet it was an entirely different experience. There was no rocking of the aravals for one. Even when they were parked and locked in place for the night they still swayed with every movement whereas tents did not. Some nights he lay on his bed roll and stared at the roof of his tent, wishing for the gentle rocking to put him to sleep.

Then there was the matter that the ground was quite a bit less comfortable than his own built-in bed. Not that he hadn't slept on the ground before, especially when he was out with a hunting party where they slept on the ground or high up on rock faces or in trees. However he'd come to expect a certain amount of comfort on the road that was sorely lacking here. Also the level of hygiene left a lot to be desired. Humans were frankly disgusting. When he’d been taken on a tour of the facilities of Haven, he had quite a few words with Cullen about how to set up a camp properly in order to prevent disease. Luckily, unlike most humans that Ajuaen had dealt with in the past, Cullen was eager to take the advice of someone who knew what they were doing. He was highly invested in anything that would reduce disease, provide clean water, food and clothing and improve productivity.

Even with a willing Commander, it was still very much a work in progress. It took time and funding to gather supplies and train an entire army worth of people. Sometimes he missed his clan so much his heart would ache. 

Still. Dwelling on such things accomplished nothing. He could smell breakfast cooking and was intent on getting something for himself. Working a major ritual always made him starving.

Outside the tent he saw the familiar faces of Dorian, Solas and Felix sitting around a fire. Cecily, The Iron Bull and Varric were with them, and Cecily was in the middle of a grand story by the looks of her arms and how excitedly she was talking. Dorian was smiling fondly at her, but was clearly half-asleep, the hand propping up his head likely the only thing keeping him awake.

“Herald!” Dorian said as he approached. “I swear last night I fell asleep in some kind of strange Elvhen palace and yet this morning, here we were, back in the camp. Solas tells me I imagined it and he must be right but it was - strange. I've never quite felt like that after a ritual.  _ Kaffas _ , I've never  _ experienced  _ a ritual quite like that. It was.” 

Dorian shook his head as if to loosen cobwebs. That much magic in an enclosed space could have a strong effect on someone's mind, especially if they were as sensitive to magic as Dorian seemed to be. “In any case, you've saved my brother. You have my everlasting and undying gratitude.”

Ajuaen shot Solas a look. A  _ magical elven palace? _ Had he taken them somewhere after the ritual and then moved them with magic once they’d recovered enough? He'd have to try to get Solas alone and ask about it later. If that meant that there was an Eluvian nearby…well, he wasn’t about to tell the humans about it, but a mirror would be  _ enormously _ helpful. Which was probably why Solas hadn’t told him about it.

“Try the breakfast,” said Felix. “I've been informed it's quite disgusting but it's the best thing I've tasted in months. It's amazing how much the blight affects your taste buds.”

“I'm sure I've eaten worse,” Ajuaen said. “What is it, gruel?”

“And bacon,” The Iron Bull said. “Can't forget the bacon - that's the best part of the whole thing. Also there’s some kind of weird vegetable that Solas says is good, but I wouldn't trust it. Smells weird.”

“Trying to get everyone to eat vegetables again are you?” Ajuaen teased.

“Honestly it's just a few herbs to make things taste better and some root vegetables. I'm not sure why everyone's so against vegetables. It’s certainly better than what the rest of the camp is eating.”

“Well, in their defense, if someone were to put strange vegetables that tasted awful into the food, and claim it was some sort of ancient remedy from the fade, you know it would be you.”

“Yes, but then I'd have to eat them too,” Solas said.

“Yeah but you probably like weird Fade vegetables,” Varric said.

“What's a Fade vegetable?” asked Cecily.

“It's a strange vegetable that's not to be trusted,” said Dorian.

“Oh for the love of. Will you please eat this and tell them it's not that bad. All they've eaten is the regular gruel - they won't even touch mine.”

“It's almost like they think a crazed hobo can't cook,” Ajuaen laughed. “Honestly how else would you survive in the wild if you couldn't cook for yourself?”

“Exactly,” Solas sniffed.

Ajuaen took the bowl with some caution, and quirked his eyebrow at Solas, who scowled at him. The Solas he’d known certainly couldn’t cook to save his life. They'd had slaves and servants for that. Ajuaen had learned how to cook in the years since, but he supposed that Solas must have learned something in the handful of years he’d been wandering alone. He wondered if Solas had actually learned how to cook from other elves, if he'd muddled through himself, or if there was some sort of Spirit of Cuisine in the Fade. He honestly wouldn't have been surprised at the latter - if such a thing existed, Solas would know about it.

It smelled good at least. It looked like Solas had added bacon and some rather meaty vegetables, along with herbs and spices to what was normally watery gruel and had managed to turn it into something that was at the very least, edible. With the first bite he realized the sauce also contained apples. The sweetness of the apples along with the saltiness of the bacon and the thick gruel combined all together into an actually quite tasty breakfast.

“I'm legitimately impressed,” Ajuaen said. “This is delicious.”

“Of course it is,” Solas said.

“Wait really? You're not just pulling our legs because we're not elves?” Dorian said, smiling wryly.

“I think you might have passed any sort of hazing once we went through that ritual together.”

“Could I try some? Just the normal gruel sounded amazing to me,” Felix admitted. “I’m honestly just excited about the smell of food that doesn’t make me nauseous.”

Solas handed him a bowl, and Felix took it gratefully. He took a cautious bite, and then moaned almost orgasmically. Ajuaen covered his face to hide the giggle that escaped him at the mortified look on Solas’ face.

“Oh come on,” said Dorian. “That's just. Really? Now I have to try some, and I just spent all this time hurting his feelings. It's going to be make me seem so socially inept if Solas turns out actually to be a good cook.”

“Just take your defeat with grace, sparkler, and eat some damn porridge,” said Varric, who somehow had already acquired a bowl and was eating it.

That seemed to convince everyone else, and the rest of the porridge was consumed with gusto.

Once everyone had eaten they headed back to Redcliffe. It seemed the magister had left quite some time ago and it would be best not to be caught without Felix there. It wasn't too long of a trip but the Herald left his mount in the stables for some attention from the groom regardless. He was then invited up to Felix's suite where they were served wine and refreshments. Felix thanked him gravely for what he'd done.

“It was nothing short of a miracle Herald. If you would have asked me several weeks ago if I'd believed in you...I would have said no. But now - well, there is definitely something special about you. I'd say you were chosen by Andraste but - do you even believe in her?”

“We have our own gods,” Ajuaen said, because as much as he was tired of being told he was chosen of Andraste, at least Felix had thought to question that maybe Ajuaen didn’t even  _ believe _ in her. “But regardless of who I was or was not sent by, I'm glad I was able to help you. Not to be crass - but do you think this will solve our problem?” Their problem being the magister.

“I would like to say for sure that it will, that my father will see reason and see all the good that you've done and come to his senses. However he seems to have taken leave of those senses since my mother and I were attacked. Regardless of how things go with my father, you have my support, Herald.”

Ajuaen studied him critically. “And how, exactly, can you support me? Isn't your father the head of your family?”

Dorian opened his mouth as if to object to this line of questioning, but Felix put his hand on Dorian's arm.

“My mother's family was independently wealthy, and I am her direct heir, not my father. So even if father were to retain his wealth, position and rank after all this and disown me, I would retain control over the Arida seat in the Magesterium, and enough wealth to support your cause generously.”

“Hm. I have a further stipulation,” Ajuaen countered. “I will not accept money from slave owners.”

“Of course. I'll send word immediately. If I send it soon enough, I should even be able to free my father's slaves. If I can't do it legally, well...there are other ways.”

Ajuaen's smile was thin. “See that you do.”

“Can I leave to send a message without you getting in trouble, Dorian? I'll be back within the hour.”

Dorian laughed, though it was strained. “Felix, you wound me. I'll be fine.”

“Don't fight with the Herald.”

“I would never.”

“I mean it.”

Dorian waved him away, and Felix went, but not without a suspicious glance at them both.

Ajuaen sighed, and poured them both a generous serving of wine “What is it that Felix thinks you'll fight with me about, exactly?”

“I haven't the slightest,” Dorian said stiffly, taking the wine. Ajuaen didn’t miss the quick spell that Dorian cast, checking the wine for poison. He wasn’t offended; he’d cast his own when he was first served. Any food or beverage acquired in a magister’s place of residence was to be mistrusted.

“I invited you to join the Inquisition and I meant it, Dorian. So if there's going to be a problem...”

“Fine. I find it rather hypocritical that you say you won't take money from slaveowners, and yet you have no problem accepting money from Orlesian and Fereldan nobles. Do you honestly think that just because they're paid a pittance, that the servants they keep aren't essentially slaves?”

Ajuaen made a feral gesture with his mouth that could possibly have been mistaken for a smile.“Do you know how often I'm mistaken for one of those servants? Do you think I don't know how my own people are treated; how humans are incapable of looking past a thin waist and a pointed ear to see an actual person standing in front of them? I am aware.”

“Then why are you -”

“Did you know that across Orlais and Fereldan, the instances of servants abandoning their post has increased tenfold in the last year? That elves who are treated poorly by their masters have disappeared, never to be heard from again? Or that those nobles who pledge support to the Inquisition are nearly three times as likely to be victim to this sort of abandonment? Strange then, isn't it, that more than a third of our forces are made up of elves.”

“Are you saying that -”

“I would never indicate that the Inquisition might be an extremely important part of some kind of elvhen underground movement. I leave that sort of thing up to Josephine. It's amazing actually; a noble is having problems with their servants, Josephine speaks to them and explains the finer points of avoiding engaging in trafficking a sentient species, or treating one’s servants so badly that they might as well be slaves, and lo and behold, either that noble is left without staff entirely, or the workers are suddenly given a living wage.”

“Well -”

“I want my people to thrive, Dorian. Just because living in inescapable poverty is hardly better than slavery does not mean I will tolerate either situation. Two things can be evil; one must not necessarily choose one over the other. There is always a third option. And if there is not one readily available, then that simply means one must be created.”

“So along with demons and a hole in the sky, you're also fighting social injustice?”

“I want to improve the lives of my people. We were great once, you know. I believe you feel similarly about your own people. Beyond that, I think we're both capable of being professional, don't you think?”

“...yes, of course. I. I can't free my family's slaves.” Dorian’s mouth twisted into a grimace. 

For all that he was technically noble, Ajuaen knew just how powerless he really was - he’d sent Josephine a letter about it. He hadn’t read all the dossier’s Leliana had compiled on Dorian; so long as he wasn't a direct threat to their security, Ajuaen didn’t need to know every dirty secret in his closet. 

“I didn't ask you to.”

“Well you should have. I. I want to contribute, Herald.”

“And you will. For instance, you can help me kill demons and Venatori.” He had his people looking into a way to get Dorian’s family slaves out from under the thumb of his father, and if it turned out that was something Dorian could help with, he’d be the first to know. For now he’d settle on forming a close bond with someone who could end up having real political power for change in a country that Ajuaen loathed.

“...yes. Yes, I can. I'm quite good at it, in fact.”

“Then for now, that will do.” He left, before Dorian could put his foot further into his mouth. For now, he put the matter out of his mind. There was a lot of planning to do before the Magister returned.

xxx

They took great precautions in their plan to retake Redcliffe. Leliana did not trust that Alexius would simply give up, and neither did Cullen. Nor did Ajuaen, for that matter, but he still hoped to resolve this without bloodshed.

So they made plans. They replaced the servants with elvhen loyal to Ajuaen, and no one even noticed. On the night that Alexius was due back from his frustrating foray into the Hinterlands, they struck. Ajuaen and Dorian snuck into the palace with Solas, Varric, Bull (who got his horns stuck several times in the narrow passageways, but he managed) along with a few of Leliana's choice agents.

Felix was waiting for his father in the parlor. Ajuaen arranged them all for best effect, he himself sitting in a high backed chair, facing an empty one, a full tea service laid out between them. Solas was at his left, Felix to his right. Dorian was behind Felix, and Bull stood behind them all, his horns making an intimidating figure as he leaned on an axe almost as large as Ajuaen.

Varric was in the corner, nearly forgotten, but his crossbow was cocked and ready, and he had an unobstructed view of the entire room. Leliana's agents lurked in the eaves, and the servants stood by, unassuming, demure, and armed to the teeth under their smocks.

And yet, all their aggression, posturing and planning meant very little when Alexius stormed into the parlor and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Felix," he gasped, and stumbled.

Felix caught him, helped his father cross the room and helped him sit down in the chair. He signaled to a servant, who poured tea. He personally performed the spell to check for poison, which caused Alexius to gasp. 

"Father. I'm alright."

“But. How. It cannot be. My son. Felix.”

Felix smiles. “The Herald healed me.”

“That is impossible. It's impossible. Even the elder one - he said that. But Felix. You look - well.”

He did. Now that he wasn't clawing at death's door, Felix looked better. His color had improved, and even in the week since the healing, his cheeks had lost some of their gauntness, the bruises under his eyes easing. He'd forgone makeup entirely, as he no longer needed it. And he'd performed magic; while he had never been a strong mage, Felix had confessed that since the blight had taken him, he'd been unable to do magic at all.

“This cannot be... Fiona? Fiona!”

One of the servants by the door eyed Ajuaen, who nodded subtly. He left quickly to fetch her. Alexis was stroking what was left of Felix's hair, and murmuring over and over, 'my son, my SON,' and Ajuaen was somewhat concerned that the man had completely lost his mind.

Fiona arrived swiftly, though she stopped briefly in the doorway to absorb the situation. Still, she steeled herself quickly. "Yes, Magister Alexius?”

“My son. Is he. He says the herald has healed him.”

“That is...impossible,” Fiona breathed. “But I will check him, of course.”

Felix had told them about Fiona, how she had once been a Gray Warden, and how now she was not, and how she hadn't known how it had happened; no one did. How she feared that she was the reason the mages had been inscripted, and how Felix thought she was right.

She put her hands on either side of Felix's head, and a healing spell Ajuaen did not recognize flowed over the man. Ajuaen made a note to have her teach him the spell; when it was in its late stages the blight was easy to spot, but being able to confirm its presence earlier could save lives. And she seemed confident enough. Alexius certainly seemed to believe her when she said,

"Felix is correct, magister. He is cured."

Alexius actually wailed, as if she'd said the opposite. He gripped Felix tightly, his eyes feverish. "After everything I've done, the Herald is the one who heals you. Felix. Forgive me.”

“Father. Please. Treat with the herald. Release the mages, undo your spell, and let's go home.”

“... Of course, Felix, whatever you want. Whatever the Herald wants, to have given my son back to me. I would have done anything…”

“Traitor!” A voice shouted from the hall, and then the room swarmed with Venatori. “How dare you betray the elder one!”

That brought the fire back into Alexius' eyes. “The elder one has done nothing for me but bring me misery and pain! Damn you! Damn you all!”

And then everything devolved into a skirmish. It was over quickly - the Venatori spoke many flowery words, but they were outnumbered and outclassed. The fight was practically over before it had begun.

After that, the political talks began. The talks lasted several hours, during which food and drink were served. Varric, in particular, was invaluable, as he brought up several points during the talks which Ajuaen, who had only paid half attention at best to human laws, did not know. He also took excellent notes.

The most alarming point of the meeting, after a lot of the political niceties like “sorry I inscripted the mages and tried to kill you,” had been covered, was Alexius' revelation of the Elder One's end plans. He hadn't been privy to everything, but as a ranking magister in the magesterium, he'd managed an invitation to the Orlesian Empress’ ball planned for next year, during which he had been instructed to assist with assassinating her.

At first, Ajuaen couldn't be assed to care. Honestly, fuck the entire country of Orlais. Varric, however, was quick to point out how that would destabilize all of Southern Thedas and set them up for an invasion of Venatori, all of which would give the Elder One more power. Which they didn't want, obviously, regardless of what anyone's opinions on Orlesians were. And of course, as the lowest class, the burden of any civil unrest would fall on the elves.

So they had an assassination to prevent, along with everything else.

After that revelation, things wrapped up quickly. Alexius agreed that lingering in the Redcliffe Castle was not for the best, and after cleaning up the bodies, he, his servants (and they WERE servants, after a very pointed talk with him confirming that he'd left his personal slaves in Tevinter,) and the entire mage contingent packed up and headed to Haven. Ajuaen wrote several letters to his advisors, one to Josephine regarding what he required from their treaty (absolutely no conscription of anyone, that the magister would fuck off to Tevinter, that any outrage the nobility of Fereldan might have with the mages be properly addressed to the magister and the government of Tevinter, since they'd been legally bound to him at the time, and that the Tranquil were absolutely welcome in the Inquisition in whatever position they felt they could contribute, and that he would personally deal with anyone attempting to abuse them. Oh, and the whole assassination thing.)

A letter for Leliana to have the magister followed (though she likely would have done so regardless,) and for someone to track down Earl Teagan or whoever the fuck was supposed to be in charge ofRedcliffe and let them know the place had been cleared of Venatori and they were very much welcome, and also that most of the serving staff had decided they'd rather serve an organization where their employers could remember their names. Oh, and the assassination thing...again.) Finally, he penned one to Cullen mentioning that he was sorry about the large headache he'd dumped in Cullen's lap, but that under no circumstances was anyone to be rounded up and put into any circles, or made Tranquil without his authority, thank you. Also, assassination.

Another letter requested Vivienne and Cassandra meet him at the Templar stronghold, because he might just make the requested rendezvous if he left now. Bull, Dorian and Varric didn't seem too thrilled to let him trample about the wilderness without them, but they agreed to escort the stampede of mages and the magister to Haven. He said that he needed someone he could trust to keep an eye on them, and he meant it.

Plus, once everyone had gone, that left he and Solas free to use the eluvian network. Surely something of it had survived. And if it had, there was absolutely no way that Solas didn't know about it. (It had, and he did, though he led Ajuaen to the closest working mirror begrudgingly. He didn't particularly want to meet with the Templars, or reveal what would otherwise have been a massive advantage in the form of an inter-continental travel network.) 

Ajuaen didn't particularly care if he was happy about it. He'd help create the Eluvian, he was damn will going to use them. As for the Templars, he didn't relish the thought of someone drinking Titan blood and then using their ill gotten powers to suppress mages, but he’d rather have them where he could watch them than have a massive anti-mage force running around doing fuck knew what.

Besides, they were gods. This wouldn't be anything they couldn't handle. It was going to be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I finish this fic before DA4? No one knows! But if you’re still reading this, comments would really help my motivation. Not fishing for compliments! There’s just something about hearing everyone’s encouraging words that really helps with the 2020 brain.
> 
> Honestly, I just want to get through this story stuff and to the romance!! :D I demand a three way relationship! It will happen!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favorite chapter so far. Writing Cole is *hard*, but I think it came together pretty well in the end. I’m a bit nervous about this chapter because there’s a lot of me just making things up, though I was heavily inspired by a lot of the lore in Trespasser. 
> 
> Warning for this chapter: nothing we haven’t seen before. Continuing the theme of examing slavery, abuse, etc, as Ajuaen deals with the consequences of Solas’ actions, and his own.

It wasn't fine. It was so not fine that Ajuaen wished he wasn't a god, so he could curse a god. Though he could just curse Solas, ninety percent of the time it was his fault anyways.

Actually, having Solas with him right now would have been welcome. He was trapped in a fade world of a demon's own make, and he wasn't half the fadewalker that Solas was. Maybe if the other god has been there, he could have done something other than stare into the hungry maw of hordes of his people, dead, possessed, turned into a horrifying undead army poised against him. They cried out to him, though their sprits should have long since passed.

"Where were you? Where were you when Arlathlan fell? We died alone in the dark. We cried out to the gods but there was no answer. Why have you forsaken us?"

“Enough!” He cried, and turned away. “What do you WANT?!”

**I want to know you, consume you, become you,** said a voice that came from everywhere and nowhere.  **I will take your place, I will become a god, and then all will know, all will fall, all will worship the Elder one.**

“I won’t let you! Solas won't let you!”

The voice chittered.  **Sad old gods, washed out, dried out, practically dead. My god lives, power given by one who would destroy the world. We'll destroy it our own way, instead.**

“I won't be as easy to consume as a human. I won't give you power. I will not bow to you!”

**It's hopeless. Everything only makes me stronger, makes me more you. Makes me remember... There's something I have to remember...** The voice trailed off.

Another voice sounded, also echoing in the false silence, but different. Softer somehow.

_ It... Knows you. I don't know you. But you feel... Who are you? _

Ajuaen didn't know what to say.

_ Never mind. Keep going! You are so much, too much. Make it stretch itself as it tries to know you. It can't know all of you - you can't know all of you, but you do. Stretch its knowledge until it snaps, and you'll be free. _

Ajuaen had few other options, so he decided to try it. He found a switch hidden behind a candelabra and the smashed Eluvian leaning against a wall lit back up with brilliance, and he stepped through.

He was in Skyhold, in the main hall, languishing on a throne made of a dragon’s skull. There was a crown of bones on his head, a staff in his hand. He wore only a fur cloak around his shoulders and a loincloth around his waist. His brands burnt brilliantly, drawing constantly on the fade. His eyes were empty, dull and disinterested. He looked like June.

He was passing sentence on another elf with no discernible face, whose features wobbled between short and tall, dark or fair, but who sported the brands of June on his skin.

“Pretender, usurper, traitor,” Ajuaen said, but it was June's voice that came from his mouth. “Wearing marks you have not earned. Fenris, slave of men, you are not worthy. I condemn you to death.”

“No! That isn't me!” Ajuaen cried. He would never. He.

_ Go! You have to keep going! _

He looked around for an exit, for a switch or lever, as Ajuaen-June made a cruel gesture and Fenris screamed, his brands burning bright as the sun. Torturing Fenris, just as his father had once done to him.

Ajuaen turned away with a cry, looking behind him - there was the Eluvian. He forced himself to walk through it, even as he heard himself laugh in cruel delight at Fenris' pain.

xxx

Ajuaen was in the Exaulted Plains with his clan, walking wearily through lands that were promised to them, but were taken away. Most of his clan was killed in the fighting, and the few that were left did what they could to pull their belongings behind them to safety, if safety could even be found. They were light on food and supplies, but drove aravels full of books and artefacts from another life that they had sworn to protect. Ajuaen watched as his clansmen aged before his eyes, growing from children to teenagers to adults to elders who struggled to keep up with the aravels. One by one they fell, succumbing to death, until only Ajuaen remained, straining to pull an aravel which had caught in a rut, broken and unmoveable.

**So this is the service to which you put your people. Freed from slavery only to sicken and die, carrying relics from a time which they have forgotten. Did you enjoy watching their struggles? Did you feel proud, as they withered and died around you, bearing your mark, while you remained forever young?**

“No, it wasn't like that. I tried to help them.”

_ Don't listen to it. Keep going. You must keep going. _

**Do not interrupt, pest! Gnat! Sniveling worm! You will not take my prey from me!**

_ Go!! _

There was an Eluvian in one of the overturned aravels. Ajuaen stepped through it, blinking back the tears that streamed from his eyes as he left the bodies of his People behind.

xxx

He was in Arlathan, just after the Veil was put up. When it had happened, he had been cut off from himself. Ajuaen the god became Ajuaen the slave - frightened, alone. But now he was outside, looking in, staring at the chaos that had been created. Faced with the action that had destroyed his people.

**Tell me, did you rejoice as all they wrought fell to ruin? Did you delight in their pain, knowing that Arlathan was forever broken, and you had helped to break her?**

“It wasn't supposed to be this way. We. We had a plan.”

_ It wasn't your fault. Feeling tumbling, turbulent, tremors. They killed Mythal. Wanted to help, but hurt instead. It's alright. Don't let it win. _

This time there was no turning from the horror. No Eluvian waited for him, just out of sight. Instead, he ran. Through broken streets, burning buildings crumbling, cut off from their structures in the fade, he ran. He passed people wailing over bodies, burnt beyond recognition, sitting statue-like in the rubble, not dead, but utterly broken. He couldn't help them. He had to keep going. This had already happened, he couldn't change it now. He could only try to do better.

He went up, and up, and up, as high as he could go, as the demon growled in the background, spinning out this fade place longer and longer to keep him trapped in it. Finally he could go no higher. There was no Eluvian, only an – end. A rent in the air, a hole in the veil, with only the void beyond it. He didn’t want to step into it, but there was no other choice. Nowhere else to go. He stood there staring at nothing, the cries of suffering filling the air around him, hopeless, heartless, utterly without thought. Then. A hand on his back, a shove, and he was tripping through the veil into the void.

xxx

Before he even really regained consciousness in this new scenario – he knew where he was. When he was. This was back further – a buried memory unable to be completely forgotten. Something he never wanted to experience again. He thought he purged this memory when he killed his father, but there it was in front of him, and he couldn't escape.

Ajuaen was bound to an altar while his brothers stood around him and his father stood above him. He could smell magic and molten metal and burning flesh. He could hear someone screaming but it wasn't him, because he felt nothing. He was in his body but he was separate from his body. His body could not hurt him, though he had no control over it. He was a spirit, trapped in flesh, waiting, watching.

And yet...he was not alone. Something held everything back - kept it from hurting him, held his memories so he would stay sane. It felt. Familiar.

**What is this. What have you done.**

Ajuaen would have shrugged his shoulders or nodded his head, or done something, anything, if he could. He could not move, nor breathe, nor think. He was only here, in this moment with the spirit, and his father's face set in a cruel mask of indifference burning itself into his memory. His awareness of magic grew with every line that was poured.

**I remember this. How is this possible. I cannot. I have not. What have you done to me.**

Ajuaen remembered or - relived or - experienced. He had not been alone in his trial, for through rigorous testing, June had found that to leave a body alone would mean the ritual would break the mind and spirit, leaving only a useless husk behind. And so June had bargained with Dirthamen and had learned how to tether a spirit to a body for the duration of the ritual.

Ajuaen had been given (had been forced upon) a spirit of Love. It had held him close; protecting him, loving him when the one who gave him life only saw him as a tool.

**We were only together for a brief time, and yet you were mine to protect, to care for, to love.**

The memory broke apart into so much nothing. In a field of white, there were just the three of them; alone. Ajuaen stood between two spirits, still disoriented from the abrupt shift in location. To his left was an envy demon that wavered in appearance; confused, lost. It looked in turn like a demon, and as a white, burning silhouette, bright even against the brilliance of the nowhere they stood, but its eyes were pits of the fade, corrupted beyond reconciliation.

To his right stood another spirit, which appeared like a tall, gangling boy. He seemed soft somehow; unthreatening. But mostly he had a hat – an absolutely ridiculous hat, which was somehow both completely out of place and utterly fitting at the same time.

_ That's right, _ said the boy,  _ You weren't always this; you were something else. You were a spirit once. You remember now don't you? _

**I remember but I can't. I'm not. I cannot go back. I have pledged myself to the Elder One. I cannot return to how I was before. Herald. Beware. He comes for you with an army of demons led by Fear. A Nightmare against which you cannot win. I cannot save you. I cannot protect you but I can. I can be. For one last final moment I can be Myself.**

Love stopped wavering, all traces of demon gone except the burned out pits of its eyes. It looked at him with sorrow and yet it radiated love – pure and unadulterated.  **I'm sorry I could not help you more. But you are growing - you have grown - you don't need me anymore.**

“I'm sorry,” Ajuaen said because he could not help but feel that the spirit had been corrupted when the veil came down, and he had forgotten it.

**You must go now. You have spent too long here. I will fade, but others are still here - others who wish you dead. Kill the red templars. They will show you no mercy and there is no mercy left for them.**

Love reached out to him, crumbling, dissolving back into the fade until there was nothing left. Ajuaen let himself close his eyes for one moment, in grief.

The boy said,  _ You'll be all right now. But I'll be watching you. If you need me. Even if you forget me - I'll still be there. _

And then the fade spat him out, and he was on the steps again. Solas' hand reached out and grabbed him, as if to pull him back from the trap he had sprung. As if no time had passed at all.

“Are you all right? What happened?”

“It's. Very hard to explain. Envy was here; and then it was Love, and then it was gone. It warned me of red Templars, whatever that means. Red lyrium? Taken by Templars?”

Solas made a disgusted sound in his throat, and Vivienne looked as if she'd bitten a lemon.

“Who would do such a thing?” asked Cassandra, incredulously.

“We shall have to see for ourselves,” said Vivienne, coldly. She clearly did not approve of their entire situation. Ajuaen felt strangely encouraged by her. For all that they disagreed about practically everything, he knew she would not tolerate any betrayal of the Templars. He welcomed the strength of her blade.

And so they marched inside to betrayal and bitterness and found the ones the spirit warned of - turned, twisted, tormented. They saved some, but lost many others. In the end they left the fortress burning behind them, a smoking ruin. It was not really a victory, but it was better than a loss. Ajuaenn could only hope that Cullen would find some solace in the fact that they had rescued a few of his brothers. Bringing mages and Templars together under one roof was likely to cause tension and trouble, but there was no other way forward. Between a demon army and a conspiracy to assassinate the empress, it was a race against time to keep all of Thedas from falling to the void. They would have to learn to work together or everything would fall apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lore note! It’s not _official_ that Envy demons were one Love spirits, but it’s a decent bet they would be based on how demons seem to be a corruption and thus a direct opposite of the original spirit. (Justice becoming Vengance in DA2, for instance.)
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed how Ajuaen beat this particular encounter. I really wanted to do something different than canon here.
> 
> I’m still looking for a beta! I’m doing my best to check my own mistakes but if anyone wants to wrangle my commas and listen to me crying over canon lore, send me a message on Tumblr! I’m Zethsaire there too ;3
> 
> Hope you all have a safe and happy holiday, and thanks for reading!


End file.
